


Hark the Hapless

by Englandwouldfall



Series: Frigging Festivities [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Festivities, M/M, ex-addict Sam, hospital au, more pointless sequels, plus domestic bickering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5420105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Englandwouldfall/pseuds/Englandwouldfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean set the bar for Christmas-satisfaction as 'better than last year.' He didn't realise that would be such a damn challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a Christmas tradition at this point. And Angela7667 asked me for it... who am I to deny?

It’s only Thanksgiving, but Dean’s already a hundred percent sure that Ruby is going to ruin Christmas. 

As part of her post-rehabilitation scheme she’s like contractually obliged to attempt to repent for her cocaine induced sins, and apparently Dean’s the person she ‘feels guiltiest about’, so he winds up getting regular phone updates about her life (he doesn’t speak in these conversations, generally, and just lets Ruby talk at him for a few minutes before grunting ‘you done?’ and waiting for her to hang up). He suspects she came to this conclusion with a strong push from her sponsor or therapist or whatever other people she’s been seeing rather than off her own back, because he doesn’t believe for one second that Ruby feels guilty about a single thing she put Dean through. More to the point, he’s pretty sure her number one answer and go to guy should be Sam, a fact which Castiel disputes without words (the last time words were used they wound up yelling; Dean’s apparent persistence in believing that Ruby put the needle in his brother’s arm is childish and unrealistic), but because Sam’s an ex-addict Ruby can’t call him up every second Tuesday of the month and tell him that she’s struggling today. And then there’s Jess to consider. 

Dean wouldn’t want Ruby talking to Sam, anyway, so he takes these phone calls with a personal sense of martyrdom and a great deal of reluctance, but apparently he doesn’t get a choice in the matter. 

Fucking rehab. 

It got worse, though, when Sam got wind of the situation. Dean doesn’t like talking about Ruby on the best of days, but especially not on days like Sam’s birthday, which is when the shit hit the fan. Ruby had called him on his cell (he hates that he gave her his damn number) and he’d excused himself from Sam’s birthday meal to take the call. All subtleties had gone to hell when she started prattling on about her new job, some kind of admin work that Ruby hates, because she was bright and ambitious and going someplace before that place became parties and the streets rehab, and apparently she was going to pay him back for the two courses of rehab, one tiny cheque at a time. Dean started yelling about how he didn’t want her money, and Ruby threw out some insult or other, and then Dean may have called her a burnout demon who broke his brother, and the she told him he could go fuck himself. Cas had excused himself by this point and then proceeded to lay into Dean for yelling at an ex-addict he was sort of supposed to be helping, and acidly asking whether he’d be prepared to pay for the third course of rehab after the relapse he’d probably caused. A call to Ruby’s sponsor, an explanation and three arguments later, Sam was in the know. And Ruby started sending him cheques (‘it’s a tax on my past debauchery, Winchester, and you just happen to be where I’m sending my tax returns, so fucking deal with it’). 

Which directly led to this moment right here, where Sam had asked Dean what Ruby was doing for Thanksgiving (‘probably lying in a ditch somewhere, who cares?’) and then insisted on inviting the bitch to Dean’s (and Castiel’s) house so that she wasn’t alone for Thanksgiving. Ruby had apparently expressed the fact that she was worried about it, and because her partner in previous-crimes was also going to be there and that’s dangerous temptation territory, she came hand in hand with her fucking sponsor turned recovery aid or whatever hell label they’re going for. 

Meg technically works at the hospital and Dean tolerates her professionally because she is excellent at her job, but he probably hates her. Cas no doubt pulled a few strings in order to get Meg assigned to Ruby in the first place, because the pair of them get along far too well for Dean’s comfort. Still, she’s just above Dick Roman and Hitler on the list of people Dean wouldn’t like to have in his house for Thanksgiving (all of whom are above Ruby). 

Castiel is actually the only person who likes Meg, and he’s on call so might be paged into the hospital at any moment, so the whole Thanksgiving situation is nothing short of horrifically awkward: Bobby’s been flatly starting at Ruby and Meg like he’s scared they’re going to burn the place down since they arrived, Ellen keeps sighing at him and trying to make the peace, but she’s the one helping him cook so she’s barely there, Jo doesn’t seem to know what to make of the situation and Jess seems, understandably, just as awkward and keeps glancing at Ruby before looking away. Other than Sam, who looks too nervous and worried to make conversation, that leaves Cas to orchestra the whole encounter to run smoothly… and Cas aint exactly a pro at navigating social situations. 

This is a guy who tried to discuss the role of the pizza man in some porno the second time he met Sam, the first being after the god awful first of January when Dean kicked him out in order to have a sexuality crisis because Sam turned up. He probably made a better impression when Dean was half naked and Cas was, at least to Sam, inexplicably being asked to leave the apartment. 

“Nice place you got here, Clarence,” Meg says, as Dean brings through the turkey. He’d like a little bit appreciation and stunned exclamations of surprise, but everyone’s too distracted by the fact that Dean’s boyfriend (fiancé, actually), is all buddy-buddy with Ruby’s sponsor. And probably trying to work out who the hell Clarence is, because Meg is allergic to calling him by his real name, which sucks because nicknames are Dean’s personal thing. 

It _is_ a damned nice house and Dean supposes it is worth commenting on, but then it’s their house and the Cas-and-Deanness of it all seems a little too personal to have the likes of Meg and Ruby floating round and judging them. He feels like the fact that their only photos aren’t framed but tacked up on the walls or on the fridge is a little too revealing, and that the slightly frayed edges of the singular photo of Dean, Sam, John and Mary all together shows a little too much history. Their choice of furniture and even the damned walls smacks too much of the hundreds of debates they’ve had about how best to do domesticity. Maybe Dean’s being a little too paranoid, and maybe no one can pick up on their practicality vs economical vs durability conversation by the way they’ve angled their fucking sofa, but he’s never owned a house before and it’s weird. It’s theirs, it’s personal and he doesn’t like Ruby absorbing it. 

“Thank you, Meg,” Cas says, glancing up at him and meeting his eyes, which is apparently all the approval Dean’s going to get for his hours slaving over the damn turkey. Cas has never been particularly clued up in the right way to respond when someone’s spent hours cooking (unless Dean makes burgers, in which he gets the kind of response that should belong in a porno), but he usually gets at least a smile and cursory thank you. Evidentially, the strain of trying to conduct a conversation in such a hostile environment is taking its toll. 

That, or he’s just still exhausted from work yesterday. 

Ellen comes in with a dish of roast veg and the plates and everyone starts handing out them out in near silence, because the icy quiet that comes with a reminder of Sam’s past hasn’t defrosted yet. It will. Probably. 

Maybe before the ice cream for dessert has defrosted, but not necessarily so. 

“You love birds thought any about filling those spare bedrooms?” Meg asks, looking like she’s enjoying the whole conversation far too amusing for Dean’s personal comfort. 

“Why? You looking for somewhere to lodge, Meg?” 

“No, Deano, I’m talking about the pitted patter of tiny little doctors and nurses,” 

“We don’t exactly got the right equipment,” Dean says, frowning as he gets caught in the limbo of sitting down and standing up. Ruby snorts at him, throwing her head back into an awful laugh. He’s struck again by how much he actually loathes the bitch, but Sam looks like Ruby laughing would be reason enough for Thanksgiving all by itself. Jess looks uncomfortable. Fuck this shit. 

“So adopt, genius,” Meg says. 

Dean’s still flailing around for a response when Cas cuts in. 

“Our schedules would make it difficult.” Castiel says, like this is something they’ve discussed at any point within the past two years of their relationship, which it isn’t. In fact, Dean can count the conversations they’ve had even slightly near this region on one hand and nearly all of those occasions were centred around Castiel’s niece and nephews, and nothing to do with the prospect of adoption. Or families. Or babies. Or anything. 

Dean chokes. 

Bobby is rolling his eyes, Jo is smothering a laugh and Ruby looks like she’s fucking delighted at his discomfort, but Cas hasn’t appeared to notice due to the level he’s absorbed in his conservation Meg. At least, Dean supposes, he’s keeping the demon-woman occupied, even if there’s another one on his left that’s watching him with distinct interest. 

“I’ll give thanks to that,” Jo says, holding up her beer with a grin. “Happy Thanksgiving, guys.” 

“Let’s hope it goes better than last year,” Dean mutters. 

“Killjoy,” Jo shoots back. 

“That’s a good point, kid,” Ellen says, “Christmas. Who’s hosting?” 

“Ah, hell,” Dean complains because conversations about Christmas have never gone his way, particularly with Castiel kind of involved and, more to the point, his brain his still stuck on the thought that Cas has thought about children enough that he’s thought of reasons not to… and does that mean he doesn’t want to ever? Or the he thinks their schedules would never allow it? Or was that just some line to throw at Meg? “Well, we ain’t having you all invading our hospitality again,” Dean says, because he’s hoping that it not being at Dean’s house will mean that Ruby doesn’t wind up involved. He fucking hates Ruby. 

“We were at Sam’s last year,” Ellen says. 

“For some of it, anyway,” Bobby mutters, darkly. 

Cas’ phone rings before anyone can make a comment on the disaster that was last year (least of all Ruby, because he’s had at least one phone conversation with her when she’s said that she wished Dean had just let her die on the side of the road because then she’d feel less guilty, all the fucking time, and it would be so much easier; and once upon a time Dean wished that had happened too, but recently not so much, but he especially does not want to hear Ruby say anything more about it). 

“Excuse me,” Cas says, picking up his phone. 

“Naomi?” Dean asks, and Castiel nods before excusing himself. Now there’s no one to derail Meg, who’s reclining in one of chairs and looking acidly between Dean and Sam. Jo coughs. “Cas’ Mom,” Dean says, although Dean suspects that everyone had already worked out that. 

“You set a date for making him an honest man yet?” Meg asks, because she’s an out and out demon who’s enjoying how uncomfortable she’s making him. 

Honestly, they hadn’t gotten all that far with their let’s-get-married plan, choosing instead to spend their savings on an actual vacation together involving time off, flights and the beach. It boiled down to Cas wanting to go someplace and Dean humouring him because he didn’t really care where ever the fuck the wound up, as long as there were hotel rooms to screw in and he actually got to spend time with Cas, which was always a damn miracle. He hadn’t counted on getting sand literally _everywhere_ and Cas turning this brown colour Dean’s never seen, and him being relaxed and happy and pointing out on their last day that gay marriage was legal, here. The latest discussion on the matter had somehow transformed into a trip around Europe, which Dean had suggested sarcastically, but then Cas got super enthused about the idea and started talking about taking all the time off he hasn’t had off for years, and Dean can’t say no to the guy when he gets that excited. The flights are going to be actual hell, but Cas has already bribed him with sexual favours so he’ll probably manage to suffer through it. 

A second holiday had seemed more pressing than making something that was already official, as far as Dean was concerned, properly official, without getting into the legal bullshit about how to make their marriage or union or whatever stick. They own a house together, they share a bank account and Cas is wearing his Mom’s engagement ring on a chain round his neck; why do they some court approved scrap of paper to say their relationship is any more real than it is already? 

“You enjoying this?” Dean asks, surveying Meg over his currently untouched plate. Thanksgiving is his kind of holiday, all food and booze and hanging out with family, and he doesn’t like the fact that he’s required to claw his way through nine layers of hell before he gets a mouthful of turkey. There’s at least six awkward conversations to go before they get to the pie. 

“I am,” Ruby pipes up, plucking a sweet potato chip out of the dish that Sam bought along, despite his mash related instructions. Whatever. “Food and free entertainment. This doesn’t suck as bad as I thought it would.” 

“Shut up,” Dean mutters, although he’s not as disheartened by the fact that Ruby’s enjoying himself as he thought he would be. At least if she’s sat at his table and eating his food then he knows she’s not shooting up in some back alley. For Sam’s sake. 

“What’s Naomi want?” Dean asks, when Cas returns from the kitchen with the familiar expression he gets when he’s talked to his mother, like he’s been reset to zero and needs a few minutes to work out who he is again. 

“Christmas.” 

“Huh?” 

“She wants us to fly out to Maine for Christmas,” Cas says. 

“Tell her it’s our anniversary and shit.” 

“I very much doubt she’d believe me,” Cas says, “No one’s anniversary is Christmas Day, Dean, it’s highly implausible.” 

“We have plans,” Dean says, even though they don’t really. He’d assumed that they’d be doing a repeat of last year (without Ruby drama, hopefully) and doing Christmas with Sam or Bobby, even though they’d never really discussed it. Gabriel is at Thanksgiving with Kali and her friends, and is planning to fly home for Christmas, so it does work out that the holiday season is a lot more Winchester sided than Milton sided, but…. He really fucking hates Cas’ family. 

“Not really,” Sam says, “We didn’t really get that far.” 

“It’s a long way for a couple of days,” 

“She wishes us to stay the week,” Cas says, his voice even. “And return after the New Year.” 

“Man, that’s bullshit, that’s a weeks’ holiday wasted.” 

“On seeing my mother,” Cas says, voice slightly less even. 

“But Europe,” 

“We haven’t flown there for eighteen months, Dean,” 

“For good reason,” Dean mutters, before immediately regretting it. Cas narrows his eyes at him. “Oh come on, man, you remember what a god damn disaster last time was.” 

Dean, as it turns out, is not very good at meeting the parents. Particularly one’s who are slightly homophobic and would have taken any excuse to hate him, even if Dean wasn’t their least favourite kind of person packaged in a leather jacket and a bad attitude. Mrs Milton visited once after the fiasco where Dean, hungover as fuck, half proposed and fully propositioned him within her earshot, and then Dean couldn’t seem to stop making gay sex jokes or bringing up his atheism. He wound up having a (very audible) bust up with Cas about playing happy families and Cas storming out, which Naomi made ten times worse by giving him this speech about how she knew Dean wanted Cas to return to him and all this crap about how Cas had never really cared about him, not really, like Dean didn’t have a house contract and a half-marriage plan to prove otherwise. It still got to him, though, and he spent the next few days really _believing_ her until Sam talked him round. Angry sex with Cas on the sofa had helped, too, and Cas had pointed out that Dean’s New Year’s Resolution had been to be nice to his mother, and Dean had pointed out that Cas had yelled her out of Kansas in the end, too. 

“Your Mom hates me. Can’t we just stay here and send her a postcard from Italy?” 

“I haven’t attended Christmas with my family for five years.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Because your family are a bunch of pretentious a-holes with a God complex and power issues.” 

“Dean,” 

“Cas. I hate your Mother and I’m not going.” The ensuring silence after the words leave his lips makes him instantly regret them because, yeah, you’re not supposed to lay into your future in-laws in front of your whole family (plus some extras) at Thanksgiving dinner. Especially when that’s not even the problem, anyway. He just hates the way Cas changes around his parents. He hates that Cas does that thing where he still wants to please them even though it’s irrational and unfair. So, whenever they spend time with the Miltons Dean overcompensates and acts like a jerk, they all judge him, and Cas sinks back into himself and creates this massive _distance_ that Dean can’t seem to get past until Cas lets him, which is usually days after the event. 

“I’m going to check on the pie,” Cas says, voice clipped and overly formal, then he’s back out the door he just entered and into the kitchen. Dean’s shoulders slump downward. 

“You available for bah mitzvahs too?” Ruby asks the silence, over her fork. 

“Dean,” Sam exhales, the spell of speechlessness unfortunately broken, “If this is you worried about _me_ \- ” 

“ – don’t lay this on yourself, Sam,” Jo says, eyes narrow slits, “Not your fault Dean’s allergic to the festive seasons.” 

“So two years of shit for skipping Christmas and now you want me to go?” Dean asks, “Talk about mixed messages.” 

“Kid, we don’t care where you do Christmas s’long as you pull your head out of your ass long enough to enjoy it.” 

He’s about to profess that he hasn’t got a hope in hell of enjoyment if Naomi is anywhere _near_ him, but cuts himself off at the pre-emptive disappointment look he’s getting from Ellen. 

“You just gonna let him take that out on the pie, y’idijt?” Bobby grunts, rolling his eyes in Dean’s direction. It’s Bobby’s general ornery grumpiness that snaps him out of it, because that’s been a staple for decades, and has him rolling his eyes and standing up. He’d have run after Cas straight away if it wasn’t for Ruby and Meg and his whole damn family there in the first place, but then Cas probably wouldn’t have left. Dean would have been treated to Cas’ passive-aggressive bullshit instead. 

“Cas,” Dean says, managing to cut the irritation out of his voice before he reaches the kitchen, settling on coaxing. Cas has gotten the pie out of the oven and is looking it, slightly bemused, which is almost a hundred percent down to the fact that Cas skipped out any time he might have had to learn how to bake in medical school. “I’m sorry I said I hate your Mom, okay?” 

“You’re sorry you _said_ you hate my mother or you’re sorry that you hate my mother,” Cas says, experimentally prodding the pie and pulling his hand back, quickly, as a result. Cas stares at his hand like it’s somehow offended him and shakes his finger like that will stop it being burnt. 

“Which means you’re less mad at me?” Dean asks, steering Cas to the sink and thrusting his hand under the cold water, because the guy has the doctor trait of thinking he’s above minor injuries like burns. Cas frowns at him. “Right, I’m supposed to know.” Dean continues, slotting himself behind Cas at the sink, “Gonna go with both. I’m sorry that we kinda argued in front of our family, friends and resident drunk addict. M’sorry that that made you look like a schmuck for agreeing to marry a douchebag like me. I’m sorry,” Dean says, into the skin of Castiel’s neck, “That I act like a jerk in front of your Mom and I’m definitely sorry that your mom is such a bitch.” 

“Dean,” Cas chastises, but he’s leaning back into his touch so Dean’s going to go with it, because Cas doesn’t want to go hang out with Naomi and the rest of the crazies that make up his family any more than Dean does. He just feels obliged to.

“Thanksgiving isn’t my finest hour, man, and Ruby and Sam in the same room is just –” 

“– the food is delicious, Dean,” 

“You haven’t even eaten any yet, Cas,” Dean says, running his hands over Cas’ hips. He’s actually almost glad he pissed Cas off enough that he’s out the room, because it means he can restore a little strength before he returns to the party. He’s been locked in the kitchen and stressing out about the whole damn thing for hours. 

“Ignore Meg,” 

“Man, I wish I could,” Dean says, pulling away and putting the pie back in the oven, because he hasn’t completely lost track of his priorities. “It’s the way she _looks_ at me, Cas. And she totally has a doctor kink and then I’m just a nurse, so she’s wondering why the hell you even keep me around…” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Cas says, “You have no basis for that assumption.” 

“Cas,” Dean sighs, “You’ve _seen_ Dr Sexy.” 

Cas rolls his eyes and walks back into their main room smiling. 

* 

He manages not fuck Thanksgiving up any further, but only because he keeps quiet and resolutely doesn’t mention Christmas.


	2. Chapter 2

The plan is Christmas for two. It's a fucking ace plan, because it involves Dean reheating mac and cheese, eating in bed, having sex, not talking about the tense background argument about not visiting the Miltons or the fact that they’re really in the middle of the biggest argument they’ve _ever_ had (worse than the one where Dean told Cas to leave on New Years’ day and worse than the one where Dean spent their life savings on putting a drug addict through rehab, therefore delaying their plan to buy a house by another three months) and actually managing to enjoy Christmas together for the first time in years. 

It’s a good plan. It’s not a plan that’s remotely going to work, mind, because Cas is still too pissed off at him because of the _big argument_ that they tentatively agreed not to talk about until after the New Year, which probably isn’t going to work. Dean’s been awake for an hour and he’s already thought about said argue for at least thirty minutes of the time, so his personal estimate is that the argument is going to come up at some point after the anniversary-sex but before the reheated mac and cheese. It’s an almost dead set that Christmas is going to suck and, once again, it’s completely his own fault.

Dean's bought Cas two anytime tickets to Maine as a sort of apology which is vastly above budget. Dean hasn't given them to Cas yet even though they already did that bit, because he's not really sure if he means it. He does actually have more money coming in now Ruby is paying him part of his wages, alongside Sam occasionally slipping him money now he's earning too, and the mortgage is cheaper than rent was, especially split two ways (with Cas paying the larger half in line with wage percentages and their stupid negotiation). It seems kinda strange that last year money was so tight when now there's, well, not like loads but enough that it's not a top consideration. He can afford romantic gestures like offering to visit Cas' mother financially, if not necessarily emotionally. 

He actually gave him this dumb alarm clock that makes coffee and some kinda obscure bible translation that Cas has been secretly ogling, because Cas probably wanted to study philosophy and become a sexy professor rather than a real life incarnation of Dr Sexy, before Naomi got her claws into him. Not that Cas doesn't love his job.

Cas, on the other hand, bought him a Dr Sexy box set and a very nice bottle of whiskey. It was all very domestic and _nice_ considering they spent most of Christmas Eve avoiding each other in different corners of the house, to the point where Dean was kind of glad that they were both working slightly different shifts.

"This is the first time we've done gifts," Dean says, bringing Cas a cup of coffee from downstairs to their bedroom, where the gift exchange took place. Dean’s the one in the dog house and Castiel is a bed-addict, so they might not actually leave their bedroom at any point today.

"I don't know," Cas says, mildly, "Two years ago you gifted me several unexpected orgasms, and last year you nearly gave me a heart attack." 

"Didn't wrap those things up in reindeer paper, though, did I?" 

"I think you would look excellent wrapped in reindeer paper," Cas says, taking a sip of coffee. "Merry Christmas, Dean." 

"I'm hopeful," Dean says, setting the coffee down so he can get access to Cas' almost smile. Two years. That's way beyond Dean's record, without factoring in the super serious house buying (and that weird incident at Thanksgiving where Cas acted like they'd talked about family starting and shit) and, god damn, but he's happy. He's settled. He really doesn't like Cas' mother, but that's hardly a game breaker. 

There is the argument thing but… that’s future-Dean’s problem. Today, they are pretending the argument and the stupid law suit are not happening. Cas isn’t mad at him. His whole fucking family doesn’t think he’s a raging idiot.

"May I go back to sleep now?"

"Dude, it's Christmas." 

"Yes, it hadn't escaped my noticed." 

"You don't wanna exploit some mistletoe? Get down to some festive fucking." 

"I will still be the twenty fifth of December after I have had a lie in."

"It’s our anniversary." Dean pouts, "And Cas, Christmas. Give a little love. Spread the joy."

"And my legs?" Cas suggests, mildly, taking a sip of his coffee. Dean has still never worked out how the guy can deliver lines like that without so much as blinking, but it never fails to have him grinning slightly.

"If that's what the doctor orders."

"And which doctor is this?”

“Doctor Sexy,”

"This doctor orders another two hours of unconsciousness," Cas says, setting Dean's coffee down and pulling Dean back down onto the bed, wrapping his arms around him. Cas has barely touched him for the past week, actually, and Dean hadn’t registered how much he missed it until right now. Damn. "With close nurse supervision."

"You're the creepy sleep watcher," Dean mutters into Cas' neck, allowing himself to be pulled back into the horizontal. He is kinda exhausted. Hospitals at Christmas are exhausting, anyway, but he swears to God there’s been a run of shitty luck going round at the moment. It feels like half the staff’s been off sick, so Dean’s been working extra shifts and both of them have been almost permanently on call. 

Then came the argument and, damnit, he hates arguing with Cas; at least, he hates it when it’s about real things. He’s okay with their bickering. He actually enjoys winding the guy up. The fact that Dean managed to piss him off enough that he pulled the smitey-rage act in front of _Dean’s whole family_ (and Ruby, who is never, ever, ever going to count as family, no matter what fluffy feelings Sam seems to be germinating), though, is another level entirely. Unfortunately, unlocking a new rage-level from his fiancé the week before Christmas fucking _sucks_ , actually, and now Dean’s a little pissed off, a little wounded, but mostly just a tense bag of stress waiting for the next shoe to drop. Having Cas curl up around him like none of that is going on is… well, it’s damned nice, even if it’s stupid. Dean still can’t buy into the whole thing where just because it’s Christmas he’s supposed to be vomiting sentiments of peace and joy all over the shop, but if it means Cas is actually initiating _snuggling_ rather than continuing to give him the cold shoulder, Hark the fucking Herald. 

It’s pretty remarkable considering Castiel maintains that he hates Christmas. 

His plan to make sure Ruby wasn’t involved in their Christmas proceedings by scheduling Christmas for two sort of worked, if only by a technicality. Essentially, he managed to schedule it so that he didn’t have to deal with Ruby on _actual_ Christmas day, but that was it. Instead he wound up subscribed to the bullshit concept of _fake Christmas_ which pretty much meant that they did the whole damn spectacle of Christmas last weekend, as well as today. As far as Dean’s concerned, one Christmas day is plenty opportunity for him to somehow screw up and wind up sinking Christmas for all involved, without adding in a second chance, but he’s learnt the hard way that you absolutely can’t argue with Sam and Jo when it comes to fucking Christmas.

And then Sam went and invited Ruby after Dean had already agreed, by which point Dean was sincerely wishing that they’d gone to Maine and spent the entirety of December being silently judged but Castiel’s parents, whilst Cas fell back into acting like an obedient robot with daddy issues. At least, that way, he wouldn’t have had to spend a two hours playing fucking Monopoly with Ruby and pretending like he didn’t want to chuck the stupid mini iron he’d been stuck with at her head.

Cas managed to get out of it. He couldn’t get the day off work, by some stroke of luck (Missouri threw Dean’s request to work that day straight out the window; apparently Jo and Charlie already got to her and demanded that Dean be scheduled off shift and she didn’t take kindly to Dean’s attempt to try bribe her otherwise), because apparently Dean lives in a world where he’d rather spend the day cleaning up sick people’s shit than actually facing his brother and his ex-addict girlfriend all sitting round a plastic Christmas tree pretending like everyone was having a great time.

He frigging _tried_ to play nice. He pulled crackers, helped Bobby and Ellen out with Christmas Dinner, sat round the dinner table like it wasn’t fucking _torture_ to watch Ruby laughing at Jo’s jokes (apparently, Thanksgiving really made her feel more at home among them, a fact which had Sammy all wide eyed with wonder because Sam actually wants her around for some stupid reason), he kept his mouth shut about every damn thought in his head. He was teamed up for frigging Charades with Meg, which was possibly one of the worst thing that ever happened to him, even if Charlie was on his team too. He wasn’t even allowed to drink away his pain, because he was due in at work tomorrow and, as much as Cas seems to think otherwise, Dean takes his job completely seriously, and some poor shmuck isn’t going to suffer because Dean’s got a bad attitude towards his family during the festive season.

Dean drew the line at twister. He backed out of the kitchen and got himself another soda, thinking he might drop Cas a text about how much of a damn saint he was being, despite Cas’ unhelpful warnings this morning (“do _not_ yell at Ruby again, Dean. Do _not_ bring up last Christmas. Do _not_ express your desire to be at work rather than at fake Christmas. Do not talk about fake Christmas negatively in any way. Do not discuss your reasons for wanting to have Christmas as a couple. Do not – ” “ – holy crap, Cas, stop diagnosing me frigging problems before they’ve even happened”). He got as far as digging his cell out of his pocket and pulling up Cas’ number before Charlie followed him, looking _far_ too cheerful for someone who’d volunteered to work Christmas, again, because it was the only way she’d be anywhere near her family. 

Dean’s such a bastard sometimes, fucking hell. 

“You doing okay, Deano?” Charlie asked, nudging him with her elbow in Bobby and Ellen’s kitchen. It had been a bad shift the day before, the last time he saw her. In fact, it had been a bad enough shift that Cas had actually gotten up at the same time as him this morning, hours earlier than he needed to (Cas out of bed before half an hour before his shift was a real Christmas miracle, if ever there was one), just to check if he was okay. The thought was there, sure, but Dean could do without people flat out assuming that he was incapable of handling his fucking feelings. He’s been in the business of death, sickness, shit and piss for long enough to know if and when to expect a happy ending. 

“Fine, Bradbury,” Dean snapped, with enough force that his cracker hat fell off his head. He forgot he was wearing the damn thing and then it nearly fell in his soda, which was irritating enough that Dean wound up snatching the thing up and screwing it up in his fingers.

“Woah there, Angsty McAngstchester,” Meg commented, sauntering into the kitchen to top up her glass of sweet sparkly piss, or something that tasted a lot like that. Personally, Dean felt it was bad form to be drinking when she was currently there as a sponsor/Ruby’s other bitch (Dean being one of them) but, whatever, it wasn’t any of his business.

“Back off, Meg,” Charlie had said.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, with Ruby in tow, Jo right behind, because of course no one could give him five minutes by himself. Obviously, that kind of basic human right isn’t allowed at Christmas, because it’s so ostentatiously about family that it’s fucking _fine_ to stick everyone in a pressure cooker of social contact then act surprised when it winds up with someone throwing cranberry sauce everywhere in a rage. 

“Oh, crap,” Jo said, “I forgot to ask.”

“Bad news,”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Whatever,” Dean said, looking back down at his glass and sincerely wishing he could have topped the thing up with whiskey. No dice, though, and he still had hours of this crap to go, because it was fake Christmas and that meant the only things Dean was allowed to think about was the spirit of forgiveness, snow and merriment. 

“What…?”

“One of Dean’s favourite service users died,”

“I don’t have _favourites_ ,” Dean snapped, “Do we have to talk about this?”

“Tessa,” Charlie said.

“Dean,” Sam said, eyes turning all emotional and understanding, in a way that was absolute bullshit because Sam did not understand. Sam didn’t understand what it was like to be involved in someone’s care for over three years, then run into such a brick wall that you bore witness to the conversation where they were told the game was up, two months, make yourself comfortable, say your goodbyes. Sam doesn’t understand that in the same way that Sam doesn’t understand how having Ruby, with her new, neat haircut and her job and every awful thing about her makes it that bit harder for Dean to look at his brother without feeling a rush of the _rage_ and _frustration_ that he definitely thought he’d moved passed, up until the point that he had Ruby handing Mayfair over to Sam in exchange for Oxford Road and Leister Square (Dean hates Monopoly anyway, but he especially hates it when Ruby winds up cleaning him out of cash and decimating his collection of properties). “You should have said,”

“Why? It’s Fake Christmas. Let’s all put on a Wham video and throw snowballs at each other in snow motion, it’ll be beautiful.” 

“I’m game,” Meg said, rearranging her own cracker hat, “Cheer up, ken doll. Your hubbie will have finished his shift soon.”

“You told me about Tessa,” Sam said. Dean probably had, just because she was one of those revolving door patients that was never quite cancer-free enough to stay away the hospital too long. Still, he’d had this naive sort of hope that she’d pull through. It was probably just the familiar cancer rhetoric crap sinking into his head; she’s a fighter, she’s a tough one, she’s not ready to go yet, like any of that made a difference when it came down to it. Yes, Tessa had fought it. She’d fought hard for three years. She didn’t stop fighting, either, she just lost. It sucked, it was crap… but, it happened. It happened every damn day, to someone’s daughter, someone’s fiancé, someone’s mother, it’s just Tessa happened to be someone he crossed paths with quite a few times along the way. “I’m sorry.”

“Sam, drop it.”

“Fine,” Sam said, holding up his hands. “We’re playing Cluedo.”

“I’m not,” Dean said, “Call me when strip poker starts.”

In the end, he was left alone in the kitchen with goddamn _Ruby_ , who’d somehow managed to escape the whole cracker-hat thing. Ruby looked a few thousand times better than she did the previous Christmas, but she still retains the ability to make him instantly feel like throwing up or punching something. 

“Found out a few days back that two of the chicks I started shooting up with are dead,” Ruby said, getting herself another glass of water and helping herself to one of the rejected roast parsnips that no one could stomach earlier. “Overdose. One started using ‘cause her step dad used to molest her. The other watched her Mom die when she was four. I was just a spoilt brat chasing a feeling and here I am, gritting my teeth through another Christmas. I don’t deserve to be here,” She continued, taking another bite of parsnip. “Death doesn’t discriminate. It just happens to people.”

“Don’t waste it,”

“I’m trying,”

“I know,” 

“Are we having a moment here, Winchester?” Ruby asked, lips titling up into one of her awful smiles. She had a point though. They sort of _were_ having a moment and Dean was sort of having a revelation that, actually, he was glad that Ruby wasn’t dead in some gutter. Only a little bit glad and probably only for Sam’s sake, but glad nevertheless. 

“I don’t trust you,”

“Good,” Ruby said, sneer still in place, and that was when Castiel had come storming in and started yelling at him about the stupid fucking lawsuit. The lawsuit that Dean hadn’t even known about, at that point, because he hadn’t even _considered_ the possibility after years and years of breaking his back to make sure Tessa’s time in hospital was as good and pleasant as it could be, even when it was shit and she was dying, that her husband might even _think_ about fabricating some stupid malpractice lawsuit and suing his ass.

Cas had told him from day one that, one day, his bending the rules and his selective reading of policy and procedures was going to bite him in the ass and, hell, it turned out the guy was dead on. Dean didn’t particularly need him storming in on his frigging high horse to deliver the smarmiest, angriest ‘I told you so’ Dean’s ever received and, fuck, Dean grew up with _Sam_. The subsequent blazing row in Ellen and Bobby’s kitchen was initially eavesdropped and then just flat out listened to by the time their voices rose to that point and ended up with Dean storming out and just aimlessly walking for a good twenty minute to clear his head.

And that pretty much killed any semblance of joy left in fake-Christmas but, right now, that doesn’t matter because it’s _actually_ the day that someone picked out as a good day to celebrate the birth of a guy Dean’s ninety percent sure that he doesn’t believe was a God, and in the spirt of good will to all men, they both agreed to pretend that they’re not pissed at each other for an arbitrary twenty four hour period.

Merry fucking Christmas.

*

By the time Cas wakes up again, Dean’s been up for thirty minutes reading over the email he got from the hospital attorney about his chances of winning or not winning this thing and, apparently, the crux of the thing seems to be on proving that Dean’s rule breaking had absolutely no bearing on Tessa’s health condition. The whole thing is completely ridiculous because, damnit, she had _terminal cancer_ , but apparently that’s not enough to throw the whole thing out. Either way, he’s definitely going to get his ass handed to him by the higher ups and _everyone’s_ been talking about it, just because people are generally less likely to pull the suing card on a nurse and because they’re kind of the hospital’s hot couple. He shuts it down the second Cas stirs, though, because it’s Christmas day and they’re going to sham their way through merry, sherry and Christmas cheer until Boxing day rolls around.

“Did you achieve unconsciousness?” Cas asks, voice still rough from sleep, turning over in their bed to seek out body contact. 

“You’re such a nerd. Yeah, I slept, not as much as you, sunshine,” Dean says, “You planning on surfacing today?”

“I thought you appreciated the fact that this mattress remembers you.”

“It ain’t hard to remember you, the number of hours you spend in it,” Dean says, rolling his eyes but pulling Cas close to him, anyway. “We should get up. Do something Christmassy.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Could watch it’s a Wonderful Life. Finally teach you why Meg calls you Clarence,” 

“Ruby explained it to me.”

“Oh great,” Dean mutters, “Now you and Ruby are best buddies too. Awesome. I’ll make sure she gets added to the Christmas Card list.”

“When have you ever sent Christmas Cards?”

“Not the point,” Dean says, reaching for his phone to send off the same Merry Christmas list to everyone in his contacts, just because it’s probably easier than actively ignoring everyone. It usually receives less backlash, which is currently what Dean’s aiming for.

“No one wanted to engage me in conversation after you walked out on Fake Christmas,” Cas says, stretching his beautiful arms, sitting up and blearily reaching for more coffee. There isn’t any, but Dean’s pretty sure that can be rearranged. “I believe they felt I was unreasonable and unduly disruptive.”

“Probably just know better than to get involved with our annual Christmas domestic,” Dean mutters, “You want more coffee?”

“Dean,”

“You really just stood there talking to Ruby till I got back?”

“I briefly spoke to Charlie too,” Cas says, “Although she was equally disapproving of my actions.”

“Well,” Dean says, “Apparently my family are a little crazy about Christmas,” 

“I’m concerned about you,”

“Wanna do a quick check up?” Dean says, nodding down at himself. “Reckon I could use a thorough examination, doctor.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

“Impossible, improbable, horny. Take your pick,” Dean says, mostly because he’s just trying to derail the conversation back into safer territory. He doesn’t actually want to initiate something. As much he’s loathe to admit it, he doesn’t feel right about having sex whilst they’re essentially not talking. It seems somehow disingenuous to their sex life. “You want pancakes for breakfast?”

“Perhaps I do like Christmas,” Cas says, actually dislodging himself from the bed covers and wander to the bathroom, wearing distractingly few items of clothing.

He’s got six messages from various people wishing him a Merry Christmas. Charlie’s tagged ‘how’s your Christmas for two going?’ at the end of hers, so that’s the only one Dean bothers actually answering. He types out ‘channelling some real Fairy tale of New York vibes’ back, then reaches for a pair of sweatpants. No way is putting on real clothes if he doesn’t have to.

Dean’s downstairs cooking, his head still on all the bullshit with work, when Cas comes down the stairs after his shower. He’s wearing a Christmas jumper that Benny bought him, because Benny is an asshole who’s attempting to ruin Dean’s life, clearly, and he looks more _cute_ than full-doctor-sex, in a domestic way that has him thinking back to Meg asking if they’d ever thought about the children.

It’s not the time to even think about it, really, when less than a week ago Castiel accused him of _still_ not taking their relationship seriously enough to consider the impact his decisions had on their lives. Which is true, in a sense. He’s been calculating risk like his is the only life at stake, here, and Dean’s always been a little frivolous about risking away his own life. Cas _does_ deserve more, though, which is why Dean bought those stupid plane tickets to Maine that are still burning a hole in their sock drawer. As a gesture. As a _sorry I didn’t realise adulthood was so damn complicated_ gesture. 

Still, he likes Cas wearing his corny Christmas jumper when only Dean’s going to see it, when Cas honestly does hate Christmas. Cas tries. Cas tires really hard. He’s doing a good thing by stowing their baggage, too, but Dean’s just doing a crappy job of reciprocating. 

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey,” Dean says, leaning forward to kiss him. “Please tell me it doesn’t light up.”

“It plays _jingle bells_.”

“You’re not the man I fucked two years ago,”

“ _You_ fucked?”

“Well,” Dean shrugs, lips quirking up slightly, “Pretty much just jumped at the first suggestion. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing,”

“I noticed,” Cas says, “I thought it was very endearing.”

“Cas,” Dean says, in a rush of breath, “I’m sorry, man. I know we were parking this for today and we’ve only been up for like thirty minutes, but I just –“ 

Dean’s cell phone starts blaring out _I’m dreaming of a white Christmas_ before he has a chance to finish his damn sentence. He’s not entirely sure what was going to come out of his mouth, actually, so it’s a relief as well as a colossal annoyance. He doesn't even know when Jo - he assumes it was Jo - would have had the time to Sabotage his cell phone.

“Jo,” Cas says, eyes narrowing. 

“Probably,” Dean says, then turns his phone over to turn the music off and, huh, it’s actually someone ringing him. His phone doesn’t recognise the number, which is strange, and he figures he’s just going to ignore it till it rings out, but then White Christmas starts again and… “Hello?”

“Hey, Mrs Clarence. Your boyfriend isn’t answering his phone.”

“Meg,” Dean says, stress levels racking up to dangerous levels before she’s even said anything. “Calling in to wish us a Happy Christmas?”

“Not so much,” Meg says, “Ruby’s gone missing.”

“And?” Dean asks, jaw clenched. He wants Ruby not to be his problem slightly more than he wants Ruby to be drug-free, a hundred percent rehabilitated and therefore no longer calling him up three times a week to tell him how much she misses cocaine. Then again, he hasn’t actually got a phone call since their so called ‘moment’ in the kitchen last week, but Dean’s been so distracted by the stupid law suit that he’d barely noticed. 

“You got any idea where she might be?”

“Haven’t seen or heard from her since Fake Christmas,” Dean says, turning away from Cas, because he’s got that curious tilted expression on and Dean knows full well that he disapproves of Dean’s attitude towards Ruby.

“She say anything noteworthy?”

“Aw, fuck,” Dean says, “She said she’d found out that week that two of friends from her druggie days overdosed and choked it. She was… she implied they deserved to be here more than she did.”

“And what did you say?”

“Not a whole lot of anything,” Dean says, “Cas came storming in like, thirty seconds later, and we all know how that when down.”

“Her Mom died on Christmas day,” Meg says, although she says it in a tone of voice like she’s almost _bored_ by it. It churns up a wave of ill-feeling in Dean’s gut, though, till he’s almost definitely sure that he’s going to throw up the two coffee’s he’s had this morning. He didn’t know that. There’s no reason why he should have done, either, because Ruby sticks her storytelling time with him to the present and how she’s feeling now. She never filled him in about the backstory. Frankly, Dean didn’t _care_ about the backstory. “Could really use tracking her down.”

“I get that, Meg,” Dean says, “What I don’t get is why this is my problem?”

“Because,” Meg says, “I called your brother first and he’s charged off looking for her.”

Dean very nearly punches the goddamn fridge freezer and he really, really, _really_ hates Christmas. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JUST in time... although there's still quite a lot of Christmas to go... but now I'm off work for a few days hopefully this should be pretty speedy!


	3. Chapter 3

“Dean, you can't do this,” Cas says, as Dean’s storming upstairs to grab his leather jacket. He's completely unprepared to be running his own, personal drugs bust, but there's not much he can do about that. He got rid of his firearms when he moved in with Lisa and figured that high and mighty _Doctor_ Castiel wasn't going to buy the argument that Dean grew up with a father who slept with a gun under his pillow and that Dean kept the tradition up during most of Sam's drug years, cause fuck knows who Sam was in trouble with and whether any of them cared enough to find Dean. Dean gets that. He didn't think it was worth pushing at it. Still, it's a bit of a blow that now he's gotta wander into the usual drug haunts on a wild goose chase with just his fists and a give ‘em hell attitude. And, fucking hell, it’s Christmas Day. Cas is already mad about Dean being sued and probably running their lives because he couldn’t pull his head out of his ass for long enough to notice that his behaviour affects _Cas_ , too, and now Dean wants to throw in getting in his car and driving into a goddamn drug den on their _anniversary_ because Dean is so involved in his brother’s crap that the other options are nearly incomprehensible. 

“Cas,” Dean says, stopping mid-motion, all the air rushing out of his lungs at once. There’s zero chance that Dean’s actually not going to chase Sam, wherever the hell he is, until his little brother is miles away from a single goddamn trace of cocaine, safe and potentially strapped down. It’s like, engrained in his DNA. It’s part of his frigging identity that he will always, always make terrible decisions when it comes to Sam Winchester. That doesn’t mean Cas has to stick around and deal with it, though. “Please be okay with this. _Please_. It’s Sam, okay? I know this is up there with the worst thing I’ve ever done to you and, fucking hell man, I’ve done a lot. I have fucked you over so many times I barely understand why you haven’t kicked me to the curb. I know. I _know_ , I just… one more favour, please, Cas. I need you so much I just…” 

“You can’t do this _alone_.” 

“What?” Dean asks, staring at him. 

“I’m coming with you,” Cas says, then he’s reaching for his trench coat. 

“Hell no. You're going to get yourself _killed_.” 

“Are you suggesting I can't take care of myself?” Cas asks, voice razor-sharp. Cas maybe a goddamn _saint_ who’s not going to dump Dean’s sorry ass on the spot, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t still going to ruin them. Or that Cas is any more prepared than he is to going wandering around wherever the hell it is that Ruby might be. 

“I'm suggesting neither of us have a hope in hell of taking care of ourselves if Ruby's pissed off someone nasty. Our one hope is that we find Sam first.” 

“Why would that help?” 

“Because Sam has a fucking gun and he’s smart enough to bring it with him, that's why.” 

“You're not going alone,” 

“You're not going, period,” Dean snaps. “Stay here. Get back into frigging bed. I don’t turn up by Boxing Day, trace the GPS on my cell.” 

“I'm a doctor,” 

“Yeah, Cas, you're a frigging doctor in a trench coat. You're not exactly going to fit in.” Dean says, scrambling for his car keys. Dean isn’t going to fit in either but he’s still a lot closer than Cas. Plus, Dean’s already going to be crucifying himself over this for years, he doesn’t need Cas putting himself danger to add to the guilt. It’s probably going to crush him either way. 

“I did martial arts,” 

“When you were a teenager, Cas.” 

“Dean, Ruby is an ex-drug addict who's expressed suicide ideation and has disappeared on the anniversary of her mother's debt. I'd say it's likely she will need medical attention.” 

“We're wasting time. Just. Fine. Fine we're both going, but you _follow my lead_ and keep quiet.” 

“We'll take my car,” 

“Why?” 

“Because you have a muscle car that you're very attached to and attracts a lot of attention,” 

“Fine. Fine.” Dean mutters, then he chucks Cas the other car keys and they're heading to the door. “Wait,” 

“What?” Cas asks, brow furrowed, that wonderful punched frown written across his features. Dean grabs him by the front of his trench coat and pulls him in for a kiss. It takes a split seconds before Cas actually reacts, then he’s got Cas’ hand tangled up in his hair, and suddenly it’s the best damn kiss they’ve exchanged in months. 

“Thank you,” Dean says, when he pulls away. “Best fiancé ever.” 

* 

“Where are we going?” 

“Head for the rough side of town,” Dean says, already hitting _call_ on Sam's number for the fifth time since Meg called him. It goes straight to voicemail this time, which means Sam's probably screening his calls. Dean’s definitely going to kill him. 

“Give me your phone,” Dean says, then he calls the phone company which, worst luck, is closed for Christmas. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I'm _trying_ to hack Sam's GPS, but apparently it's fucking Christmas or something. Okay, option two," Dean says, then pulls up the stupid app Dean installed that's supposed to tell you where your friends are. He may have got it purely for the sake of stalking Sam and Ruby, but it does the job. It's less accurate, but whatever. Looks like Sam turned his damn GPS off about twenty minutes ago (probably just before he started screening Dean’s calls), but Ruby's still working. “Take a right,” Dean says, “We're headed for Ruby first.” 

Cas blinks. 

“Don't get too excited, Cas. I aint a changed man. Betting on Sam beating us there.” 

“Is now a good time to discuss our argument?” 

“Cas, what in the name of _fuck_ indicated to you that now was a good time to discuss our frigging argument?” Dean asks, staring at him. Cas is staring resolutely at the road, shoulders tense, and Dean’s suddenly completely sure that Cas is going to accompany him on this drug-run and _then_ dump him. He deserves it. He’s more than earned it, between the law suit and the fact that it’s Christmas Day and they’re chasing after Sam and Ruby like these are _Dean’s_ demons. 

“Well, the original purpose of postponing the argument was to celebrate Christmas. Now we are postponing Christmas I assumed we could reconvene the argument.” 

“Reconvene,” Dean repeats, shaking his head. 

“Plus you started talking about it before we were interrupted.” 

“Take a left,” Dean says, glancing back at the GPS on his screen. “And I’m not exactly in a position to negotiate with your right now, Cas. Pretty sure you call the shots here, darling.” 

“No,” 

“No?” Dean asks, lump in his throat. 

“I don’t want that,” 

“Okay,” Dean says, “Second exit. What do you want?” 

“I believe I _got_ what I wanted,” Castiel says which, frankly, makes no damn sense to Dean. Unless what Cas wanted was to finally be proved right – because the guy got that in spades – but that’s far too petty for Cas. The guy is self-righteous, sure, but he definitely didn’t want Dean to get frigging _sued_. Dean doesn’t get the chance to question him on that, though, because suddenly his phone is blaring out _rocking around the Christmas tree_ and Dean is never, ever letting Jo near his cell phone again. 

“What?” Dean asks, then he’s got an eclectic mix of Jo singing _we wish you a merry Christmas_ , Ellen laughing and Bobby grumbling down the phone like he’s being forced into this whole thing in the first place. 

“You having a good Christmas, kid?” Ellen asks. Dean glances over at Cas, who looks the level beyond stressed, a little how he gets after one of his patients has died. They’ve entered the rough side of town, now. They’re going to have to get out the car soon. 

“In the top five,” Dean says, “No question,” 

“Cas okay?” 

“Say hi, Cas,” 

“Hello,” Cas says. 

“You driving somewhere, Dean?” 

“Uh,” Dean says, “Long story. Merry Christmas and all that crap. Got presents to unwrap. Christmas stuff to do. Eggnog to drink. _Bye_.” 

“You lied,” 

“I’m trying not to ruin everyone’s Christmas,” Dean says, running a hand over his face, “Goddamnit, Cas, it didn’t want today to go like this. Just me, you, reheated Mac and Cheese and some proper quality time.” 

“You wanted a couples Christmas because you wanted to avoid Ruby, Dean, not because you had any particular desire to spend time together.” 

“What?”

“I’m just stating facts,”

“No, you’re…” Dean pauses, swallows, “Is this it? End of the line?”

“No, Dean, it is not _it_.”

“Pull over here,” Dean says, shoulders already tensing up. 

“What I wanted from you was to _think_ about the wide effects of your actions. Given you’ve barely spoken for days, haven’t been sleeping and have been cutting off your family’s efforts to speak to you, I assume you have been,” Cas says, stopping the car. “Do I need to pay and display?”

“It’s Christmas Day, dude. I’m pretty sure no sucker’s gonna be checking for parking tickets,” Dean says, throwing open the door. “Looks like Sam beat us here,” Dean comments, nodding to Sam’s car and swallowing. “Could check whether he paid and displayed if it helps you sleep at night. Not that that’s ever been a problem.”

“Dean,”

“ _What_?” 

“I should not have yelled at you in front of your family.” 

“Do we have to talk about this now?” 

“Will you let me apologise?” 

“No, Cas, I will not. We’re currently trying to find my _ex-druggy_ brother and my _ex-druggy _responsibility on Christmas day, on our anniversary, and if you dare say sorry like this whole thing isn’t my fault then I swear to God I will…”__

 _ _“Will what?” Cas asks, suddenly right behind him, because Cas no concept of personal space.__

 _ _

“I dunno, man.” 

“Give me my apology present?” 

“What?” 

“We have a shared credit card, Dean,” Cas says, as Dean peers around the next corner, Cas his goddamn shadow. Dean feels like he’d be doing this conversation a lot better if his mind wasn’t so full of _Sam_ and _Ruby_. His nerves are shot to hell. Cas also doesn’t seem to get that now would probably be a good time to remember the ‘keep quiet’ part of Dean’s instruction. Also, his chest aches. Cas sounds pissed, but it kinda sounds like he’s constructively pissed which… fucking hell, Cas is the best. 

“Keep it down, Cas,” 

“Tessa meant a great deal to you.” 

“And you’re bringing this up now because?” 

“We are about to go poking around a drug den. If one of us gets stabbed I’d prefer us to be on good terms.” 

“Awesome,” 

“You needed me to support you, Dean, and I failed you,” 

“That why you’re following me round now?” Dean asks, holding a hand out to stop Cas. He hasn’t been in a place like this for a long time, now, but he’s been around them enough in his life to know what they’re looking for. It’s not the roughest area he’s been in, but it’s still a far cry from their cushy neighbourhood and their nice house. 

It takes fifteen minutes of poking around back streets and avoiding the few people they do see before they find them, two streets away from where they parked the car in first place. They’re sat on the floor, leaning against the building behind him. Ruby has her eyes shut. Sam’s talking. It’s illogical, because Sam is a million miles away from where he was, but it has Dean _straight_ back to years ago, when Sam was thin, hollowed out, not speaking in the back of the impala as Dean drove them both to rehab. Dean hadn’t seen him for over twelve months and he wanted to hug him as much as he wanted to punch him in the face. Sam didn’t speak for miles and miles. Ruby was the one filling the silence with words; she talked and talked at him. She wouldn’t stop fucking talking. Sam wouldn’t catch his eye in the windscreen mirror, but Ruby kept _fucking_ talking at him. 

Sam stole from him. Sam lied to him. Sam screwed him over so many goddamn times, Ruby by his side, and facing down them having a cosy little chat has Dean on edge again. It doesn’t help that he has everything with Cas buzzing round in the back of his head. It doesn’t help that, whatever Cas has just been staying, Dean has no idea how Cas can forgive him for this. It doesn’t help that they’re in the exact kind of place that Dean would pick them up from whenever he did manage to hunt Sam down. 

Sam stands up. 

“Dean,” Sam says, holding a hand out in an attempt to pacify him. “Dean, just, calm down.” 

“Calm down, Sam?” Dean asks, stepping towards him. In his peripheries, Ruby open her eyes. “You want me to calm down?” 

“Dean. Look.” 

“She taken something?” 

“Dean,” 

“That’s a yes,” Dean says, taking another step forward. “What? Cocaine? Heroine?” 

“Just cocaine,” 

It’s the ‘just’ that does it. It just _snaps_ his resolve. The worry turns to anger. He’s thinking about fucking everything, until suddenly he’s not thinking about anything at all about how fucking _mad_ he is at his stupid, stupid little brother, then he’s stepping forward. 

Then he punches Sam in the face. 

It’s a good hit considering how out of practice he is. Sam takes a few, stumbled steps back and then blinks at him. He’s got his dumb, too-precious-for-his-world expression on, like he’s not a guy who just left his goddamn girlfriend in the middle of Christmas day to follow his junkie-ex back into the lion’s den. Like Sam’s decisions don’t _ruin_ people’s lives. 

“I know you’re upset,” 

“Upset?” Dean demands, “I am not upset, Sam. I am so fucking done with your victim complex bullshit. I am so _done_ with you acting like your life is so damn hard and making us run round cleaning up after you.”

“I didn't ask you to come after me,” 

“No,” Dean snaps, “Like you didn't ask me to put you through rehab and hunt your ass down, pay off your goddamn dealers, take you in, pay for your fucking girlfriend to get clean so it didn't disrupt your delicate psyche. Yeah, Sam, you didn't ask me, but you knew damn well I was gonna do it, just like you knew damn well I'd run after you today. You know I'd let my whole damn life burn to the ground to keep you safe and to _repay me_ you take advantage, Sammy. You wade in here like you don't care what the consequences are, even though your crap has consequences on me, then you tell yourself that ain't your problem because you _didn't ask me to_. You think about how long I'm gonna be ironing this out with Cas? You think, for one minute, what you're doing to Jess? Because this ain't about Ruby, Sam, this is about your own damn guilt. And the only one who's obsessing over that is you.”

“Dean,” Cas says, then Dean focuses in on the actual problem at hand. _Ruby_. Ruby has no family. Dean is virtually her only friend, which is a goddamn joke. Her Mom died on Christmas Day however many years ago. She has no one. Right this second that pushes out the blame and all the hatred enough that Dean’s just concerned that she’s going choke it because Dean didn’t hear what she was saying to him at fake Christmas. He’s responsible for her. He didn’t ask for it, yeah, but he’s listened to her whining for long enough now that he’s become this implicit, important part of her recovery process. 

“She okay?”

“Doubt it,” Ruby says, sitting up slightly, focusing on him. “Hey, Dean.” 

“You’re a pain in my ass, Ruby,” Dean says, crouching next to her whilst Cas continues to check her vitals. She’s definitely high. He’s experienced her high enough to be able to tell, the question is _how_ high.

“Told you not to trust me,” She says, all smiles.

“Yeah,” Dean says, “You sure showed me.”

“Dean,” Sam says, still stood behind him.

“How much have you taken?” Dean asks, ignoring Sam completely.

“Too much,” Ruby says, shutting her eyes again. “You gonna put my ass through rehab again, Winchester?”

“Until it sticks,” Dean says and, holy shit, he actually means it. He _cares_ about Ruby. He hates her guts. He’s wished her dead more time than he counts, but he cares down to his bones. “You owe someone something?”

“Careful, Dean,” Ruby smiles, “You keep bailing me out, might give someone the wrong impression.”

“She needs to go to the hospital,”

“Fucking awesome,” Dean says, closing his eyes, “Get her to the car.”

“Dealer,” Ruby says, gripping hold of his wrist. It’s a weak grip. “Just under two hundred.”

“Jesus Christ, Ruby. How much did you buy?”

“Christmas rates,” 

“Peace and goodwill to all men and all that,”

“Except cocaine addicts,” Ruby smiles, the kind of smile that cuts through him, “He gave me half an hour to get it.”

“You had some kind of plan for that?”

“Kinda figured I’d be dead,” Ruby shrugs, still smiling. 

“Fuck,” Dean says, “Cas, you got any cash?”

“I didn’t bring my wallet.”

“Get her to hospital.”

“Dean,” Sam says, “I bought cash.”

“Course you did, Sammy, we’re on a drug’s bust.” Dean snaps, “Go, Cas. Go.”

“Dean,”

“We’ll be fine. Apology accepted. I’m sorry too. Yada, yada. _Go_ before you invalidate your Hippocratic oath,” Dean says. Ruby isn’t so keen on moving, but Cas is a hell of a lot stronger than he looks. He’s got her moving towards the car in no time. “Holy crap, I am so getting my ass fired.”

“They can’t fire you for this, Dean.”

“Sam, I’m already under investigation because of the damn law suit.”

“I didn’t… Dean,”

“Just shut up, Sammy,” Dean snaps, squaring his shoulders as he pulls out his wallet. “I got fifty dollars.”

“I bought a few hundred.”

“Fucking _awesome_ ,” Dean says, chest tight.

“Are,” Sam begins, then stops, “Are you and Cas okay?”

“I got no idea, Sam. How’s that?”

“I – “

“Do you _know_ how fucking hard it is to see you making nice with Ruby when you betrayed me over and over for that bitch, Sam. I put it behind me, yeah. I did. But that don’t mean none of it happened and you keep _throwing it in my face_ and I am done. This is the last time. This is the last damn time, Sam.”

“Okay, Dean,” Sam nods, his eyes fucking watering.

“You’d think for a damn addict you’d recognise when someone ODed.” 

“I’m not… Dean, she offered me cocaine. I said no.”

“Gold star,” Dean snaps because, really, that shouldn’t help. It does. “You got your gun?”

“Yeah,”

“Well that’s something,” Dean mutters. Honestly, Sam’s probably saved their asses. Dean didn’t put in enough forethought to consider things like _money_ and, as much as it sets every one of nerves on edges, bringing a crap load of cash was a good call. “You having a good Christmas?”

“Dean,”

“Hey, at least _I_ didn’t ruin it this year,” Dean says, and he’s about to make another joke, but that’s when the drug dealer shows up. Well, the drug dealer’s hired, drugged up lackey at any rate. It’s just some kid. That’s what always gets Dean about addiction. There’s so many kids, they’re broken, unprotected, and vulnerable; the kids aren’t the ones just chasing some high out of boredom. They’re the ones prepared to do any damn thing to make everything feel okay. 

It’s also entirely obvious that they’re not who the kid's expecting and it’s terrified him.

“Are you guy’s cops?”

“No,” Dean says, turning to face him. Dean would place him at fifteen, maybe. Could be younger. He’s glancing between the two of them, on edge. “We’re here on behalf of the brunette chick with the bad attitude.”

“You have a gun,” The kids says, “I heard you.” 

“Yeah, we do,” Dean says, “You got a weapon?”

“Why should I tell you?

“Look,” Dean says, going for his pocket. The kid panics, then suddenly he’s brandishing a frigging _penknife_ in Dean’s direction. Dean pulls his wallet out slowly. “I got fifty dollars. My brother here has the rest. How’s this: we put our gun on the floor, you drop the knife. We hand over the money. You deliver it back to your boss and we all go about our day. Huh?” 

“How much money?”

“How much d’you need?”

“A hundred and eighty.”

“We give you two hundred dollars and we all leave here and pretend none of this happened. Okay?”

“Okay,” The kid agrees, then he’s stepping forward, knife in his right hand. “Gun down.” Sam pulls the gun out with one hand and his wallet with the other. Dean pulls out the whole contents of his wallet and holds it out. Sam fumbles with his wallet then holds that out, too.

“We good?”

“The gun,”

“Sam,” Dean says.

“Okay,” Sam says, then he bends down to the put the gun on the floor.

Then Dean’s cell starts blaring out _simply having a wonderful Christmas time_ and the tension wracks up sixteen levels. Dean can barely breathe through it. He’s out of practice. His nursing job doesn’t feel cushy when he’s slaving over sweat and piss and patients dying every day, but it’s not at all like this.

“Answer it,” The kid says, eyes wide, shaking. “Answer the call.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean says, reaching in his pocket and pulling out his pocket. It’s Ellen’s number, which fills him with this clammy dread. “It’s just my aunt, okay?”

“Answer it,”

Dean slides his thumb across to _answer_ , then he’s got Jo, Ellen and Bobby all bleating out all I want for Christmas is you. They must have consumed _a lot_ of alcohol for Jo to have got all three of them involved, and Dean kind of wishes he was there, but more to the point the kid has absolutely no idea what to make of it. 

They get the whole way through the chorus and are stumbling into the verse when Ellen realises that no one’s spoken on his end of the line.

“Dean?” Ellen asks, voice slightly slurred. “Dean?”

“Tell her everything’s fine,”

“Look, kid, it’s just my family calling for Christmas, okay? Just let me hang up and take the money.”

“Tell her everything’s fine.”

“Dean Winchester, _what_ is going on?”

“Do it,”

“Uh,” Dean says, lifting the phone up to speak into it, “Just Christmas stuff, Ellen. Dr Sexy Christmas Special. Rocking around the Christmas tree. Shit straight out of the Christmas songs, you know…” Dean says, trying to subtly glance back to Sam to see whether he’s going to go for the gun again. The movement is probably a mistake though, because his slight incline of the head is probably what makes the kid snap. And that’s when he stabs him with the penknife.

“Fuck,”

Sam’s taken a step forward and punched the kid in the face before Dean’s really _felt_ the fact that he’s just been stabbed. The punch knocks him out cold. Then Sam’s grabbed Dean before he can fall, easing him down slowly.

“Dean,”

“Shit,” Dean says, “Might be two for the emergency room,”

“What?” Ellen asks on the other end of the phone.

“Oh, hey Ellen,” Dean says, breathless, “We’ve got a bit of situation.”

“The University Hospital’s closest,” Sam says, pulling off his douchey scarf and using it to put pressure on his wound. It hurts like a mother fucker, now, but then again no one ever told him stab wounds were a lot of fun.

“No,” Dean says, “Go to my hospital.”

“Cas will have taken Ruby to the University Hospital,”

_"Give the kid the money," Dean hisses, batting Sam's hand away to take over the putting pressure on the wound shit. Sam looks like he's about to argue for all of a second. "Do it."

“Someone tell me what the hell is going on, Sam and Dean Winchester.”

“University Hospital, twenty minutes,” Dean says, “It was only a penknife. No sweat if you’re busy with Christmas. Hah,” Dean says, swallowing, “Guess we will be spending Christmas after hospital at all.”

___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is so late! I wildly overestimated how much I could do during my Christmas break, then going back to work wiped me out. Also, this chapter is like... totally different to the rest of the series and I'm not entirely happy with it, but... bare with me.


	4. Chapter 4

At some point between dropping two hundred dollars on a drug dealer, getting stabbed on Christmas Day and being ushered into Sam’s car to speed to the hospital, Dean must have passed out. It’s irritating because he _knew_ , in the seconds before, that the stab wound wasn’t that bad; yeah, it hurt, yeah, there was a fuck load of blood, but it’d had missed all the important squishy bits and probably wasn’t going to cause any permanent damage (provided it got stitched up soon). Apparently, the knowledge he’s picked up in the past few years of nursing wasn’t enough to stop his body going into shock though, till he lost consciousness whilst Sam had his foot flat on the accelerator, jabbing at his car radio to stop it blaring out Christmas tunes.

It actually summed up a lot about what Dean feels about Christmas right now.

“Sam,” Dean says, struggling to sit up and then regretting it, because it's just Sam hovering round his bedside, staring out the window with his jaw clenched, looking about as festive as a natural disaster.

Castiel _isn’t_ there and Dean might have just have pushed him a little too far. And that’s terrifying. 

“Hey,” Sam says, snapping into action and dragging his chair closer.

“Ruby?”

“She’s…. Cas got her here just in time. She’s stabilised. Dean, I didn’t know she was trying to…”

“Cas,” Dean croaks out, fist closing around the hospital sheets. He’s making a mental inventory of all his limbs. He can feel his toes and nothing’s numb, so he’s pretty sure everything’s fine. As much as it doesn’t _feel_ like it, he’s been pretty lucky.

“He's here,” Sam says, voice laced with this shitty guilt he doesn't want to hear.

“Here _where_?”

“Downstairs,” Sam says, then he see’s something in Dean’s expression, “He's not mad. Not at you. he's... he's... uh, the hospital has this policy about none family Christmas visitors.”

“Huh?”

“I think there was an incident,” Sam says, “but the upshot is they... you have to sign a form to say he's allowed to see you on Christmas day because he's not family.” 

“He's my _fiancé_ ,” Dean deadpans, making another attempt to try and sit up. He _knows_ it’s a bad idea and it’s probably going to irritate the health care professionals, given that they’ve gone to a lot of effort to make his stomach higher than his heart, but Dean’s pretty sure the amount of crap he deals with on a day to day basis means he can do whatever the hell he likes. He _knows_ the risks.

“You’re supposed to –”

“ – Sam,” Dean snaps, “Get me the damn forms, tell the Doc I can move my legs and I wanna be discharged. Then get me some coffee.”

“Okay,” Sam nods, standing up. It’s then that notices the beginnings of Sam’s black eye. He’s not even _guilty_ as much as still pissed off. He wishes he wasn’t still pissed, but he is. He’s frigging furious at Sam’s latest string of crappy decisions, even if Dean’s ninety percent sure that the guy was just trying to help.

The doctor arrives first and pretty much confirms Dean’s assessment of the situation. She’s completely against his discharge-plan and utterly unimpressed by Dean’s pointed comment about how his _fiancé_ is a doctor and downstairs and how it’s frigging _Christmas_. He doesn’t mention the fact that he’s pretty sure they’ve reached boiling point, relationship wise, and if they’re going to have an honest to god serious conversation about their relationship then he’d rather not do it in a hospital. On their fucking anniversary. Goddamnit.

She _does_ go and find Castiel, though, and she finds him quickly enough that he must have been stood outside. Sam probably alerted him to his consciousness and Dean has no idea how that must have gone down, given it’s not that indirectly Sam’s fault that this whole thing happened. They _just_ got the point where Castiel had gotten over his slight-issue with Sam and… it’s probably just because he’s so furious right now but, damn, Dean can’t even blame him.

Cas is radiating frustration when he finally walks into Dean's ward in the emergency room, striding down the corridor like he owns the damn place. His expression softens slightly as he stops short by Dean's bed, because things are a little on the complicated side; Dean's in the dog house for getting sued and that's before he ran off and got himself stabbed on their anniversary. They've probably been on better ground, but Dean's hurt and that trumps most domestics.

"So what do you think Doc, reckon I'll live?” Dean asks. Angry Castiel has always been that incredible mix of terrifying and fucking beautiful and the Doctor is being treated to one of his full frontal scowls. Then Cas has the audacity to hold out a hand for his chart, like everyone doesn’t hate it when medical people do that.

“The forms,” The doctor prompts, because she’s made such a point of it so far, she can probably go a full steam ahead with it. Castiel glowers at her with his whole being. Dean rolls his eyes and thrusts the forms in her direction.

“I solemnly swear that my frigging _fiancé_ can freak over my stab wound on this heart-warming Christmas afternoon,” 

Castiel takes Dean’s chart and starts squinting at it. Apparently there’s nothing to criticise, which means she’s probably an incredible doctor because Castiel has pretty high standards when it comes to health care, and he’s clearly irritable enough to look for mistakes.

“How long has this policy been in place?” Castiel asks her, with his laser intense glare, “You are aware that it’s potentially discriminatory.”

“Cas, we got marriage equality now, it’s our problem we haven’t sealed the deal.”

"I should check your vitals," Castiel says, turning his laser focus to Dean instead.

Dean glances down at the vague direction of his crotch, offers a grin and declares “All present and correct.” It’s a little lame, but it knocks a little of the intensity out of Castiel’s gaze, till it’s softer and a little more human. He _almost_ smiles and it’s affectionate and lovely and not the look of someone who’s just about to dump him for being a reckless asshole with bad priorities. 

“Dean,” Sam says, appearing with a cup of coffee, the discharge forms and the mother of all puppy dog eyes, “I got your coffee and the forms.”

“Seriously?” The doctor asks, shaking her head at all three of them, “Okay, whatever, it’s your funeral.” 

“Appreciate the support, doc,”

“But,” The doctor says, “I’m waiting on your blood work _and_ you can’t leave until you’ve given a statement,”

“A statement,” Dean repeats, then his brain catches up. He got stabbed in the roughest part of town in the middle of a frigging drug deal that he and Sam collectively paid for, so… yeah, no frigging wonder there’s going to be a statement. “Who the hell called the cops?”

“Dean,” Sam says, “You were _stabbed_.”

“I fell on a knife,” Dean throws back, trying to sit up a little more then regretting it because, fuck. Castiel sits down on Sam’s vacated seat and takes Dean’s hand, running a thumb over the palm of Dean’s hand. It’s stupidly intimate given they’ve got Sam, a doctor and a humungous elephant in the room, but Dean’s not about to make an issue of it.

“Get your story straight, boys.”

“Busted,” Dean says, squeezing Cas’ hand back.

“Dean, I didn’t have a choice,” Sam says, once the doctor’s left them alone again, “If there was CCTV footage, then… not that many people get stabbed on Christmas day, Dean, and –”

“ – you flushed the coke, right, Sam?”

“Ruby didn’t give me –“ 

“Cas?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, voice rumbling and, goddamn, Dean’s really pulled him into Dean’s bullshit now. Castiel’s the ultimate stickler for the rules and Dean’s got him ditching drugs on Christmas day without Dean even asking him too.

“Fucking A,” Dean says, “Your gun?”

“In the car,”

“Okay,” Dean says, “So, we stick as close as we can to the truth. I’m Ruby’s, I don’t know, unofficial sponsor, we got word she was in trouble, we came after her. Then we got mugged. Done.”

“I _paid_ him,”

“You dropped the money because you were freaked about my stab wound. I aint going down for a frigging drug deal,” Dean says, “Cas, you good?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, but he’s staring at the palm of Dean’s hands, vibrating with _something_. Sam’s still looking at him like Dean’s too precious for this world and Dean’s not sure he can deal with both of them at once.

“Cas,”

“The rules are _absurd_ ,” Castiel blurts out, manic enough that it silences all the Winchesters in the room for a few long seconds. 

“Hey, Cas –”

“You were _hurt_ and they wouldn’t let me see you,”

“Sam, give us a minute,” Dean says, staring at his fiancé, who’s having a lot of fucking emotions right now. In his peripheries, Sam’s dawdling with the coffee (which, okay, Dean _did_ ask for) and the discharge forms before he’s up and on the way out of there. “Wait, Sam. That kid wearing a hoodie?” Sam nods. “Dark hair and glasses, right?”

Sam’s expression twists a little before he nods. 

Then they’re alone. 

“Cas,” Dean croaks out because, damnit, Cas is the stoic, unmovable one. Dean’s the one with all the emotions. Cas just gets prissy and righteous, he doesn’t get shaken. He doesn’t get _effected_ by stuff.

“You were hurt,” Cas says, “Dean, you were _stabbed_ and it didn’t know what was happening. Sam _called me_ and they wouldn’t let me see you and none of the doctors would speak to me. Sam’s information relaying was sporadic at best and….”

“I’m okay,” Dean says, throat thick, “Cas I’m… I’m okay.”

“This hospital’s rules are _unnecessarily_ traumatic and…”

“Babe, I’m walking out of here today. I’m fine.”

“You were absolutely right,” Cas says, still clutching at his hand, “About last Christmas, about breaking rules, about _Tessa_. If there had been a _single_ medical professional in this building with an ounce of rebellion then I…”

“Cas, no, you were right. You were _right_ about me getting sued and unnecessary risks and all that crap. Look at what happened today, man.”

“You saved Ruby’s life.”

“Any frigging one of us could’ve gotten stabbed, or more hurt, or _worse_ and I just had to…. And Tessa’s husband.”

“Is an imbecile,”

“Not disagreeing there,”

“Dean,” Cas says, “You have consistently gone above and beyond to ensure Tessa’s happiness during her care.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Her _happiness_. Not her health.”

“Nothing you did will have impacted her health. I read her file.”

“Before or after you yelled at me?”

“After,” Castiel says, “Dean, I was _wrong_.”

“You weren’t,” Dean counters, “Cas, it’s only just hitting me how right you were. About everything. From the _beginning_.” 

“Dean, what you do is remarkable. You _see_ people and you do everything you can, regardless of the consequences, to help them in whatever circumstances,”

“And when the hell am I gonna put you first?” Dean snaps, “When the hell are _you_ gonna trump running around after Sam’s messes and breaking dumb hospital policies and risking _paying our goddamn mortgage_ because of some crappy principles. We’re engaged and we have a _house_ and responsibilities and I don’t get to sell you out because a bunch of sick people who I don’t even know’s maybe-relatives wanna visit on Christmas day. You’re worth _more_ to me than that.”

“Ruby needs you. As does your brother.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “And what’s gonna happen with _us_ if I lose my job for paying the resident addict’s tab and getting caught up in some bad shit,”

“You could get another job, Dean.”

“Or if that kid had hit a lung, or a kidney, or a major artery. Or if the cops had shown up when everything was going down,”

“Unlikely,” Castiel says, “I imagine a great deal of them are enjoying Christmas.”

“Like _we_ were supposed to be before I screwed up.”

“Ruby and Sam screwed up,” Castiel corrects, “Dean, I don’t love you because you are a _safe option_. I fell in love with you with the full knowledge that you are obtuse and irritating and daring and absolutely good. I absolutely fail to see why I’ve persistently undermined something about you that I truly admire.”

“Because you love me, you dork, and I take these crappy risks and it freaks you out. I get it, Cas, I do. And we can work it out, I hope.”

“Regardless, I could pay the mortgage with my salary alone.”

“Hey, fuck you Dr hot shot.” 

“And you have medical practice insurance.” 

“So it’s all okay then,” Dean exhales, “Cas, I’m really fucking sorry. I don’t wanna fight with you. I wanna… I wanna _be better_ for you. Damnit, I actually wanna marry you so this bullshit form thing doesn’t come up again.”

“We should do that,”

“You still want to?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, grip tightening on Dean’s hand, “Dean, I am committed to you.”

“Damnit,” Dean says, grabbing hold of Cas’ shirt to pull him in for a kiss, because Castiel is so fucking _good_. “I’m not gonna take unnecessary risks anymore. I swear, Cas, I’m gonna be all in this, for you.”

“The issue is, Dean, all the risks seem necessary at the time,” Cas says, voice low, “I understand that and I’m done asking you to change it.”

“But you… okay, you know what? We can talk about this at home. This perspective switching is giving me whiplash.” 

“Okay,” Cas says, “The man who stabbed you didn’t have dark hair and glasses, did he?”

“He was, like, fourteen or fifteen,” Dean says, “And we live in a crappy state that criminalises kids for being poor and vulnerable.” 

“So you’re going to lie,” Cas says, smiling at him. It’s lovely. 

“Okay, yeah, but that’s the last unnecessary risk and then I’m going cold turkey,” Dean says, as Cas drags his chair closer and kisses him again. “Cas, that _kid_ didn’t have a choice. He was scared.”

“I know, Dean,” Cas says, “I am sure I will feel great sympathy for him when he hasn’t just stabbed my fiancé.”

“I get that,” Dean says, “Help me sit up,”

“You should keep your wound elevated,” Cas says, leaning forward to help him, “You’re going to have to take time off work.”

“Oh, man, whoever’s covering my ass is gonna be pissed,” Dean says, “Getting stabbed in Christmas week.”

“I’d also recommend limited physical activity for a few weeks,”

“One year, we’re gonna actually have anniversary sex.”

“I thoroughly dislike Christmas,” Castiel says, still leaning close.

“I was supposed to change that for you,” Dean mutters, quiet.

“We can hate Christmas together instead.” 

“Bah humbug, baby,” Dean grins, then Cas kisses him again. Just a brief, quick thing, but it’s awesome. Cas is still wearing his stupid frigging Christmas jumper and Dean’s so impossibly in love with him and, damnit, they’re actually _getting somewhere_ with a load of bullshit they’ve been carrying round for the past couple of years.

“Uh, hey Dean,” Sam says, clearing his throat, “They want your statement now. And, um, Ellen, Bobby, Jo and Benny are downstairs. I got you more forms.”

“Benny?”

“They were all over the limit and they couldn’t get a cab,”

“Son of a ….okay, one problem at a time,” Dean says, “Cas, can you go check up on Ruby? Maybe buy her some frigging medical insurance,” 

“She’s had insurance from the second she was employed,” Castiel says, standing up, “I had a lengthy discussion with Meg about it. I’m going to call my brother after I’ve seen Ruby.”

“You could check in with Jo et al,”

“They’re all irate with me at current,” Castiel says, turning to acknowledge Sam without even an attempt at a smile, “Merry Christmas, Sam.” 

“Right,” Dean says, before Sam can get through the apology he’s clearly wanted to give out since Dean regained consciousness. Dean just does not want to hear. “Send in the police.”

It’s actually pretty impressive that Christmas is turning out significantly worse than last year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the catastrophically long wait! I am a bad person.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s a mark of how chronically awful everything is that Dean’s actively sweet talked the nurse (who happened to hear half of the story he relayed to the police about his deep set commitment to Ruby Cortese and her sobriety, like he doesn’t hate her eighty percent of the time) into wheeling him over to Ruby’s bed so he can avoid his family.

She looks better than she did this time last year, but she still looks like crap. He’s gotten used to her being… a little more whole. He’d gotten used to her being roughly okay. The reminder that all that can be shot to hell in a few moments of weakness is not welcome and not just for Sam. 

“You got hurt,” Ruby says. She’s shaking, wired up, sweating, fists clenching and unclenching. “Fuck,” 

“You’re not looking so hot yourself, Cortese,” Dean says, “but hey, seasons greetings,” 

“Piss off,” 

“Nope. You’re stuck with me, kiddo.” 

“Why?” Ruby asks, spits almost, “ _Why_?”

Dean doesn’t answer for a few seconds, mostly because he doesn’t really have an answer. He’s spent a lot of time over the past year wishing Ruby out of existence so its hella surprising that he actually gives a damn about her as a person. The fact that she wanted out makes him feel hollow and guilty and just fucking _sad_ and it makes him want to do something to make her life better. Not in an impersonal, general way either. He cares about Ruby in all her snarky, bitter edges, with her emotional baggage and her air of cool. She’s awful and ruined everything, but she’s so tangled up in their story that she almost counts as family. 

“Your Mom died on Christmas day, huh.” 

“I was seven,” Ruby says, “Cancer.” 

“Four,” Dean says, “House fire,” 

“I know,” Ruby says, “Sam told me. Mary Winchester.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “He doesn’t remember her, though, so he sure as hell don’t remember losing her.” 

“You were right to punch him in the face,” Ruby says, still shaking, “Sam has people who care about him. He shouldn’t…”

“We agree on something,” Dean says, “Ruby, I care,” 

“You care,” Ruby repeat, shaking, “You _care_ ,”

“Alright, don’t go making a scene out of it,” 

“You care about me,” 

“Oh, screw you, Ruby.” 

“You shouldn’t,” 

“Next time, you call me,” Dean says, “Bottom of the line, if your head’s fucked up, if you need to talk to someone… not saying I’ll be polite about it, but I give a damn, Ruby.” 

“You’re hiding from Sam,” 

“You caught me,” Dean says, “Sam and the rest of the motley crew,” 

“And Castiel,” 

“Actually, no,” Dean says, “We’re more the fighting it out type. Reckon that’s half our problem. Don’t know what the damn hell we’re fighting about most of the time…but, Jo and Ellen are a little pissed at him, turns out, so he’s avoiding them too.” 

“I hate Christmas,” Ruby spits, all barbed edges, but so goddamn vulnerable, and then Dean’s making the decision that he’s going to do better for Ruby, too. He’s going to be _engaged_ in her recovery. He’s going to actually admit to himself that having her healthy and doing okay is just as important for his welfare as it is for Sam’s. He’s going to acknowledge the fact that it became a lot more about Ruby than the Winchesters a long time ago. 

“Yep,” Dean says, shifting on his wheelchair thing then regretting it immediately because it pulls at his stitches. “Preach it.” 

They spend the next half an hour sat in silence until Jo manages to track him down. 

*

The walk back to the hospital parking lot is as awkward as hell. Sam must have given Ellen, Jo and Bobby the cliff notes (Benny ditched the drama for Christmas after dropping in to bring Dean another pack of Christmas toilet paper, because apparently that’s the kind of crap they sell at the hospital gift shop in this place), because they’re all glancing at him like he’s about to start throwing more punches. 

Sam’s eye has bloomed into an impressive bruise that Dean can’t look at it, because he gets an eclectic mix of guilt and a surge of righteous anger every time he does. He doesn’t really want to look at Sam, anyway, because it’s frigging _Christmas_ and Dean would love everything to be a goddamn festive special right now, where they put their crap behind them and exchange gifts and platitudes, but it _just happened_ and Christmas doesn’t make that any easier. It just makes it feel crappier because they’re all supposed to be singing Christmas carols and marinating in how heart-warming everything is. 

He hasn’t felt like this towards Sam for three years. 

“Good frigging job it’s Christmas day, or reckon you’d have gotten a ticket for that parking job,” Dean mutters, as Castiel wheels him out to his car (and the wheel chair isn’t necessary, but it wasn’t worth arguing about). No one else is speaking, so he’s just filling in the dead space. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, irritable but not really irritable at Dean, “I had a woman heading towards heart failure in the back seat.” 

“Point taken,” Dean says, as Cas helps him stand up. He feels pretty crappy, but that’s only going to get worse when the painkillers ware off. “Guessing you’re driving. Sam, you good to drop Ellen, Bobby and Jo off home?” Dean asks, without looking at him. 

“Yeah,” Sam says quickly, “Dean, I – ” 

“ – Alright,” Dean cuts across him, “We better get back. Thanks for coming down. Appreciate it.” 

“Look after him, boy,” Ellen says, pulling Castiel into a hug (which Cas is comically surprised about), before facing down Dean. “And keep yourself out of trouble, Dean.” 

“Yes Mam,” Dean says, “Saves work deciding if they’re suspending me or not,” 

“They wouldn’t,” Jo says, “Everyone knows the case is bull. It’ll be thrown out in minutes. He’s just causing a stink because he’s grieving. There’s no _basis_. Everyone knows that,” Jo says, silenced only when Ellen glares at her. Jo glances at Cas, then swallows and deliberately doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes. 

“Awesome,” Dean says, “This has been buckets of fun.” 

“Well it’s true,” Jo says, folding her arms and deliberately looking at Cas this time, “Anyone with all the facts –”

“–Joanna Beth, it’s Christmas day, and you will keep your mouth shut.” 

“It’s alright,” Cas says, “My actions at fake Christmas were regrettable.” 

“Regrettable,” 

“Jo, butt out.” Dean says. 

“No,” Jo says, “If everyone else is having domestics on Christmas Day than why can’t I say my piece? Tessa –”

“ – should not have been a pawn in a fight I wanted to have,” Cas interjects, “I am aware. Whilst I appreciate your dedication to Dean’s welfare, I would respectfully ask you allow us to discuss this without your input.” 

“Cas, tone it the fuck down,” Dean snaps, “And quit the righteous routine. She’s trying to help. Look, this day is steaming pile of crap. Can we all just go home and write this one out the history books? I got stabbed, I’m tired and the last thing I need is some unnecessary fight about something we can all agree was a total shit storm. I’m done.” 

“Fine,” Jo says, folding her arms. 

“Okay, kid,” Ellen says, “We’ll see you at New Years’, if not before.” 

Damnit. 

“Dean,” Sam says, puppy dog eyes in place, edge of desperation, “Dean, I’m so –”

“No, Sam,” Dean snaps, voice raising, “You go home and save your apologies for the girlfriend you abandoned at frigging _Christmas_ and I will let you know when I wanna talk to you.” 

“Okay,” Sam nods, swallowing. His eyes are shining but Dean absolutely refuses to feel guilty about it, because, damnit, Dean needs a little _time_ to get over this. He will do, but he’ll do it at his own pace. 

They listen to Castiel’s god awful CD of birdsong the whole way home, because it’s the only actual alternative to Christmas songs. 

*

“Sit down,” Castiel says, the second Cas has helped (which he's not too proud to admit he kind needs to Cas, if not to anyone else) him through the front door, “I’ll get you something to eat,” 

“Treat me this good I’ll have to get stabbed every Christmas,” 

“Dean, let me take care of you,” 

“That what you say to all the stab victims?” Dean says, shuffling towards the sofa before sitting down painfully slowly. Castiel probably wouldn't have sanctioned a stab-patient to be discharged on the same time and, honestly, Dean probably wouldn't even have argued most patient's case's for them. Too much risk of infection from such a deep wound. Too much risk of pulling the sutures out but, hey, he has one of the best doctors in the state available most hours of the day and he's pretty good at DIY restitching wounds, anyway. “Did you eat at any point today?” 

“I ate at the hospital cafeteria whilst they were refusing my admittance to your room,” Cas says, as the microwave dings. “It was an abomination to food. Season 3 or Season 4?” 

“Dude,” Dean says, as Cas sets up Dr Sexy then hands him the remote. 

“I will look after you,” 

“Deal.” 

“Elevate your wound,” Castiel says, pulling his novelty Christmas sweater over his head and throwing it at him. Dean snatches it out of the air, frowns at the garish reindeer before shoving it underneath his back. “I’ll get you a pillow too.” 

“S’cool, this is symbolic,” Dean says, adjusting his legs, “Good job I shacked up with a doctor. Got my own medical care on tap.” 

“I’ll call Missouri,” 

“Don’t tell her about the drug deal bit,” Dean says, “Make it sound like I was doing something totally above board. All I want for Christmas is not to get suspended.” 

“Okay, Dean,” Cas says, pausing to kiss his forehead. It’s an un-Cas like gesture which reminds Dean of just how much Castiel has been freaked out by everything that happened today. It figures. Dean’s pretty sure he’d be a lot more of a mess if Cas was the one who got hurt, but maybe not. Castiel is used to being able to fix things and _do_ something about the problem. He's using to being in control of the situation. Dean being hurt and out of reach was always gonna suck for him. 

“When you’re done with Missouri, we should get you set up with a nurse outfit,” Dean calls after him, as Cas wonders into the corridor to make the phone call. 

“You need a sick note,” Cas says, when he wonders back in five minutes later with two plates of Mac and Cheese, sitting on the arm of the sofa and frowning at the screen, “Apparently, I’m not able to provide one.” 

“Text Jo tomorrow,” Dean says, through a mouthful of mac and cheese. As Christmas dinners go, it’s pretty awesome, if not quite what he was envisioning when they planned it. 

“Missouri sends her well wishes,” 

“She said I was a ‘damn fool boy’, right? And you told her the whole story because she’s got that freaky thing that makes you spill the truth.” 

“Perhaps,” 

“It’s cool, Cas,” Dean says, looking up at him, “Thanks for calling it in for me.” 

“Are you mad at me?” 

“No, I’m not,” 

“You seemed mad when I was speaking to Jo,” Cas says, staring at the television. Doctor Sexy is strutting around in his cow boy boots, like anyone who works fourteen hours shifts would ever buy footware for anything less than practically. It's two seasons before his gay crisis, but Dean swears down that there's buckets of sexual tension between Dr Sexy and the surgeon with the biceps. Castiel is the only person who's listened to him detailing out that particular fan theory, even if he thinks the whole thing is bullcrap and the gay crisis is merely lazy writing. Still. 

“No, it’s just…” Dean begins, “There’s room on this sofa for both of us, you know. My stab wound doesn’t take up that much space. Get over here.” Cas obliges, which is good, and after a little bit of rearranging, Dean’s resting on Cas’ shoulder and his wound’s still kinda elevated. “Okay, so,” Dean says, “You… you lose your cool when you care about stuff, Cas. The whole reason your chewed me out about the Tessa thing is because you were scared and emotional. You were mad at me for being an idiot, yeah, but it was more because you were upset. My family don’t get that. The way they saw it… I debatably screwed up with Tessa and the first thing you do is storm in and start shouting about unnecessary risk and how it’s my fault which, yeah, it is, but it’s like… they don’t get that you were just upset. They think you’re kind of an unreasonable dick right now.” 

“I _was_ an unreasonable dick,” 

“Cas,” Dean says, “Would I have preferred it if you didn’t yell at me in front of my folks? Yeah. It sucked. Not doing it would have been… ace, but… I wasn’t _upset_ cause you yelled at me – much, I mean – I was just shaken that I managed to upset you enough to act like a total dick. You don’t do that. We fight, but you don’t…. you don’t speak to me like that,” Dean says, “So you pretty much speared with me the message that _this stuff affects you_. So, I get it. I’d already forgiven you for yelling at me the next day. My family aren’t all that interested in your side of the story though,” 

“Understandably.” 

“And the last thing that’s gonna help with that is you, when you’re prickly and emotional and stressed out, getting on your high horse about when they’re allowed to butt in,” Dean says, “I get where you were coming from, but… not the time. I need to talk to them. Explain that you’re awesome and you just worry about me.” 

“You’re very generous to my motives,” 

“I know how much you care about everything. I know I make you a little crazy. I mean, come on, I’ve always made you crazy,” Dean says, grinning up at him. 

“True,” 

"Me and Christmas," Dean grins, "Your weaknesses," 

"The Christmas special episode is up next," Castiel nods at the screen. 

"And you say you're not that into this show," Dean says as Cas picks up the remote and wordlessly skips to the next episode, which is largely based around a New Years' Eve party turned arson attack. Given how their luck has been going lately, it seems a little too likely and Dean's pretty stoked he quit smoking a few years back when they'd just started dating and Cas' silent distaste pushed him into it. "You reckon I am gonna get in trouble? About Tessa?" 

"No," Cas says, "There's very little merit to her husband's claims. The only reason it's taken so long to be resolve is that it's Christmas. I was significantly more at fault in my last malpractice suite and that was turned over quickly. Don't dwell on it, Dean." 

“Nah,” Dean says, “Don’t believe you’ve ever been at fault, medically,” 

“Dean,” 

“I mean, remember that time I had a cold,” 

“You retell this story too frequently,” 

“And you told me that sex would be just as effective as cold meds,” 

“I was implying the medication was at fault, not angling for sexual gratification. You are the one who took it as a come on. _And_ you infected me,” 

“Pretty sure that was a given before the sex,” Dean says, “And you were a total baby about it,” 

“The fact that you’re an excellent care giver makes it very easy to indulge in being sick. I’m surprised any of the service users at the hospitals ever wish to leave,” Cas says, catching himself on Dean’s expression, “That’s a compliment, Dean,” 

“Don’t sound like a compliment. Sounds kinda like a lame ass pushover,” Dean says, “Sounds kinda like it was obvious Sam was gonna take advantage without even frigging noticing that I’m…” 

“Dean, the very _fact_ that you have been so steadfastly there for Sam is why he doesn’t always notice when he’s crossed the line. I know that you’re understandably very upset right now, but, generally, I do not think you actually want Sam to be constantly aware of the sacrifices you’ve made or be openly grateful for what you’ve done. It would bother you because you believe it’s your duty and don’t want to be praised for that. Your consistent loyalty is another of your excellent qualities and I… I wish that it hadn’t led to you being hurt. You are a very good man, Dean, and there is absolutely nothing about giving _care_ which should be minimised,” 

“You’re cute,” Dean shoots back, mostly just to deflate the moment. Cas’ expression breaks out into a smile till Dean just has to lean forward and kiss him. Cas curls a hand to cup his cheek and hold him there, till the awkward angle starts to pull at is sutures and he has to pull away. “Don’t think sex is gonna fix this one, Doc,” 

“Very medically inadvisable,” Cas says, his lips quirking up a little, “I think you and your brother just need time,” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Can we not talk about this right now? I just… it’s bumming me out and I feel like, for all that I would have really liked Christmas not to have gone down like this, it’s at least given us a chance to talk about the court case stuff and the risk taking stuff and, I dunno, our general relationship crap. I feel like we really _got_ somewhere today.” 

“Me too, Dean,” 

“And I feel like this really needed to happen,” Dean says, “Cause we really… I mean we were in this thing deep, fast, Cas. We’re at two years and we own a frigging house and were gonna get married and that’s awesome, don’t get me wrong, but it’s two years since our first date, not us falling in love or being properly committed or any of the rest.” 

“This is true,” 

“We were all in way before we worked out to make it work,” Dean says, “And, hey, if I didn’t have you around, who’s gonna heat me up my mac and cheese and give me a novelty sweater to elevate my wound next time I get stabbed?” 

Dean’s phone starts screeching out ‘IT’S CHRISTMAS’ and Dean is definitely going to start avoiding Jo after November because, clearly, that’s the only way to stop her fucking with his phone round Christmas time. Cas retrieves it from Dean’s pocket – he’s closer, kind of – on his behalf and presents it to him. 

It’s Sam. Dean turns his cell off and discards it on the coffee table. Cas frowns at him like he wants to make an issue of it but knows better than to push when Dean’s already made his stance on it clear. He doesn’t want to talk to Sam right now. He wants to hang out with Cas. 

Sam calls Cas next. 

“Don’t,” Dean says, grabbing hold of Cas’ shirt as he stands up, “Cas, don’t,” 

“Your brother has called me twice in our entire acquaintance, Dean,” Cas says, “You don’t have to speak to him. I will… yes, hello, Sam. He’s… asleep. Yes, that is a lie. He doesn’t… Sam, what’s wrong?” Cas says, then he pauses in the doorway. Dean’s stomach turns over. He doesn’t want to hear this. He doesn’t want to be listening to the other half of this conversation. He wants to resolutely not think about Sam for another few days or weeks or whatever. He doesn’t want to be filling in the blanks of their conversation, but Cas has halted on his progress out the door and is stood right there offering the occasional stilted ‘hmm’ because the guy is pretty socially awkward. “Sam,” Cas continues, voice tilting into concerns, “Sam, regardless of how angry your brother is right now, he wouldn’t refuse… yes, I will ask him,” 

“What?” Dean grunts. 

“Jessica has kicked him out,” Cas says, voice falsely calm but arranged into the voice he uses to tell people when they have inoperable cancer; it’s low, gentle and unforgiving. “He needs our spare room,” 

There’s a few seconds when he actually believes he’s going to tell Cas to make him sleep on Bobby’s couch instead but it’s fucking _Christmas_ and Dean thinks that making Sam homeless on Christmas frigging day might actually be considered unforgivable. And it’s Sam. Cas is right. Regardless of how angry he is, he can’t refuse Sam anything. 

“Fine,” Dean says, squaring his shoulders at the TV and staring at Dr Sexy, “But I ain’t talking to him,” 

“Of course you can stay with us, Sam,” Cas says down the phone, “I will set up the spare room,” 

“Make him do it himself,” Dean mutters. 

“He’ll be here in half an hour,” 

“You know those sorry-I’m-getting-my-ass-sued plane tickets I bought you for Christmas? Maybe we should cash them in right frigging now,” 

“Dean,” Cas says, setting his phone down and approaching him, “Your brother is very upset. Jessica –“

“ – Jess wouldn’t have chucked him out if he hadn’t gone chasing his ex around the butt crack of this city on frigging Christmas day when they were supposed to be doing couples Christmas too.” 

“Do you want me to call him back and tell him to make alternative arrangements?” 

“No,” Dean mutters, “Get over here. I need you.” 

Cas crosses the room and sits back down on the sofa next to him. It takes him a minute to work out a way to arrange them that doesn't cause issues, but when Sam arrives a good forty minutes later they're still like that; Dean tucked under Cas' arm and sprawled our across his chest. It's not the way they usually do it but it's nice, actually, and it feels like Cas has his back and can get all protective and righteously pissed on his behalf. It's good. 

"You got the boot, huh?" Dean comments, when Sam's framed in the door with his black eye and his guilt, looking at them like it hurts to. 

"I'm going to fix this, Dean," Sam says, looking a little wide eyed and harried, "I need to fix this." 

"Give it time, Sam," Cas says. 

"I can't," Sam exhales, ringing his hands, "She's... she's pregnant. She was going to tell me today and... I ruined everything." 

And Dean doesn't have a damn thing to say about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update was so slow we're practically at Christmas again! So, so sorry.


	6. Chapter 6

“I wanna shower,”

“No,” Cas says, pausing to drop a hand to his shoulder, before he’s back to making breakfast. He’s getting bacon and eggs and toast even though it meant Cas had to drag himself out of bed a helluva lot earlier than he needed to do to be on shift which, forget miracle on 34th street, is actually the Christmas miracle of the century. Getting frigging stabbed has it’s advantages, even if the pain meds the hospital gave him have well and truly worn off. He’s feeling it today. 

“Need to scrub off this shitstorm of yesterday,” Dean mutters. 

“You need to keep your wound dry for forty eight hours,”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, taking a sip off his coffee, “Cas, I _really_ wanna shower,” 

“I can put a waterproof the dressing if you _promise_ you will be careful and commit to taking it easy today,”

“Only cause you’re making me breakfast,”

“I am serious, Dean, this is one of the occasions where you ascertain that you _will not_ take unnecessary risks any more is pertinent,”

“Cause you worry about me,”

“Yes,” Cas says.

“Eggs are burning,” Dean says, quirking up his eyebrows. 

“Damnit,” Cas says, then he’s heading back to the pan. Dean feels an unprecedented surge of affection for the guy, just for getting up earlier and trying and failing to cook him some breakfast when he’s got a full day of work ahead of him and should, be all rights, be mad at him. Cas is sentimental and generous and worried and Dean really frigging loves him. 

“New topic of conversation,” Dean says, watching Cas flail around over breakfast, like the guy isn’t capable of savings people’s lives all the damn time, like he can be defeated by something as basic as making breakfast. “We should set a date,”

“Perhaps a Christmas wedding?”

“Fuck you,” Dean smiles, “Spring?”

“This spring?”

“We’re still going low key, right?” Dean asks, “Court room, nice duds, I’ll cook a bunch of food and we can buy some beers and whatever. We can swing that by spring,”

“Is this suggestion based on the comparative price of spring over summer,”

“Maybe,” Dean says, “And I want it done. Next time I land myself in a hospital bed I don’t want you to be freaking out in the cafeteria. If we get this legally squared away it’ll be easier.”

“We do need to adjust our wills. Perhaps it would be easier to do it jointly,” 

“Right,” Dean says, “Make sure our frigging niece or nephew is looked after,”

“How are you feeling about this?” Cas begins, abandoning the breakfast to look at him. 

“Hey,” Sam says, announcing his presence in the kitchen looking about as crap as Dean feels. Dean kind of gets the impression that Sam has been hovering in the doorway for a while and only interjected at this point because he can’t facing knowing exactly what Dean feels about this. 

“Good morning, Sam,” Castiel says, “Would you like breakfast?”

“Better question is - how does Sam feel about this?” Dean interjects, not looking at his dumb kid brother with his black eye and his miserable expression. 

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam says, sitting down. 

“How does _Sam_ feel about pissing off his pregnant girlfriend and -”

“ - Dean, this wasn’t… this wasn’t _planned_ ,”

“Awesome,”

“Breakfast,” Cas says, setting it down in front of him, “Dean,”

“I didn’t know!” 

“And would that have made a difference?” Dean asks.

“Dean,” Sam says, “I get that you don’t understand but… Ruby _needed_ me. I was trying… I was trying to help. She...I get that you want me to be done with her, but we got into that mess together. It wasn’t her fault. We justified everything together. We got into that hole _together_ , Dean, and I was just trying to - ”

“ - Cas,” Dean interjects, “You can talk to Jess,” Cas stills where he’s serving breakfast. “You can talk to her, get her to understand, get her to take Sammy sorry ass back,”

“Why?”

“Cause you put up with this crap from me! Damnit, if anyone can relate to their other half running out in the middle of frigging Christmas to go help an ex-drug addict…. you were saying yesterday that you got it. That you forgive me and crap cause you know me and you know my intentions and you know I gotta… gotta do the right thing. You damn nearly convinced me that my behaviour was a-okay, so maybe if you deliver the same speech to Jess…”

“I can try,”

“Cause Sam has gotta be there for his kid,” Dean says, “We can still fix this,”

“Dean, this isn’t your job,” Sam says, all puppy dog eyes and misery, “Dean, you don’t have to do this. Cas doesn’t have to do this,” 

“Can you swing by and talk to Jess after your shift?”

“If Sam is comfortable with it,” Cas says.

“Sam?”

“Okay,” Sam says, sounding a lot younger than he is.

“You’re the best, Cas,” Dean says, lips breaking out into a smile, “You gotta get to work?”

“I have time to waterproof you first,”

“You best not be being this nice to make amends still,” Dean says, standing up and stretching, then regretting the crap out of it, “Cause you’re beyond forgiven,”

“I’m allowed to be nice to you with the pure intention of being nice to you, Dean,”

“Uhuh,” Dean says, “I mean, you’re not getting laid till I’m all healed up, so it’s not gonna get you anywhere.”

“Dean,”

“Okay, okay,” Dean smiles, “Let’s get me waterproofed.” 

“And make sure you eat,”

“I’ll eat, Cas,” Dean says, “You made me breakfast and everything. Gotta respect that.”

“And _rest_ ,”

“Yes, Doc,” Dean says, following him out the room with a grin. This morning feels surprisingly good given that everything sucks. Christmas was probably the worst yet. He’s mad at Sam and it sure seems like his whole damn family is mad at Cas. He’s still getting sued. He’s not entirely convinced he’s not gonna get further questions from the police about how it went down with Ruby again. 

Things are good with Cas, though, and that’s not something to shake a stick at. 

After Cas has gone to work, Dean chucks away Cas’ frigging terrible attempt at breakfast and makes himself some toast, aggressively pretending that Sam isn’t there because he really, really does not want to talk to him right now. 

* 

He knows something’s up the second Cas’ name flashes up on his cell in what must be the first thirty second of Castiel’s break. Sure, they check in on each other when they’re at work (when they’re on opposing shifts, phone calls in their breaks are the only contact they have with each other the whole day), but not on days when they’ve already managed to talk over breakfast. Dean had expected a little worry stemming from the stabbing thing, but he’d figured Cas might call him on his lunch break, not now. 

“How's your shift?” Dean asks, leaning against the kitchen counter and chopping up veg, phone wedged under his ear. 

“Your family hates me, Dean,” Cas says, in lieu of hello. “You need to advise me how to fix it.”

“Cas, they don't,” Dean says, “And it ain't like your family are big Dean Winchester fans. We're no Romeo and Julian, here.”

“That's entirely different, given my family do not approve of me either. And they're very far away. I ran into Jo in the hospital -”

“- what she say?” Dean says, irritation beginning to bubble up in his gut. 

“Nothing,” Cas says.

“Look, Jo's awesome, but damn that girl can throw a frigging tantrum. She doesn't hate you and I'll talk to her. They just don't ... get you. It's probably my fault, Cas, and I'll fix it.”.

“Your fault?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs. He’s been up most of the night thinking about all the ways he’s screwed this thing up with Cas and he’s pretty damn sure that how he broached this with his family is one of them.

It happened at a strange time. He was still a little off kilter with his family when the whole Cas thing started; skipping Christmas, angry at Sam, keeping distance from Jo and Bobby, struggling to deal with grief and learning how the hell to live on the other side of John Winchester’s death. The upshot of all of it was that in the beginning he kept Castiel to himself. 

He just never figured it could cause them problems years down the line.

“You weren’t what they were expecting, Cas, and I should’ve pushed harder for them to get to know you.”

“They do know me,”

“Some of you. You're a tough nut to crack wide open, Cas,”

“I don't want to be cracked,”

“You can come across a little stoic if you ain't well versed in Castiel. That ain't a bad thing. You're a doctor, pretty sure it's required, but it... Uh, like last Christmas. That frigging disaster. You went into doctor mode, cause I needed you to and Ruby needed you too, but my family just sees _Doctor mode_ when we've got this emotional crisis. My family is pretty frigging emotional. Then you do get emotional, except you get mad and they just… _I_ know you get choked up over that goddamn advert with the bees - ” 

“- Dean, bees are very - ” 

“- significant, I know,” Dean says, “Cas, I depend on you pulling me through a helluva lot more than I've depended on anyone for years and they weren't expecting it. I’ll talk to Jo.” 

“Have you spoke to Sam?”

“Nope,” Dean says, “Guessing you gotta get back to work in a few.”

“I'm getting coffee.”

“Awesome,” Dean says, “You doing okay buddy?”

“It's ridiculous, given I genuinely do not like this time of year and given I knew you'd opted out of your family Christmas to avoid Ruby, but I was honestly hoping we could catch a break,” Cas says, voice painfully vulnerable.

“Cas,”

“Regardless, I rang to check if you were okay, not to have an emotional breakdown over the phone,”

“Tis the season,” Dean says, “I’m good, Cas. Really. Bonus vacation time.”

“I love you,”

“Right back atcha, darling. Now go kick some disease’ ass for me, kay? Save some lives. Rock those cowboy boots.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, a smile creeping into his voice, “No medical professional has ever worn cowboy boots to work. I’ll call you later.”

“Good,” Dean says, setting his cell back on the counter and taking a breath. 

“Cas okay?” Sam asks from somewhere behind him. Dean doesn’t turn around. He probably heard all of it. Dean’s not sure he even cares.

“No,” Dean says, emptying the chopping board onto his oven tray, “Guy doesn’t do so well with Christmas,” 

“Right, I forgot, that’s how you bonded,” Sam says. He sounds a helluva lot like he’s schooling his voice to sound neutral, even if Christmas has been a loaded subject for years. “Smells good. What are you cooking?”

“Christmas dinner,” Dean grunts, “Figured I’d surprise Cas on his lunch break.”

“That’s… really nice, Dean.” 

“Yeah, well, always figured when we got together that I’d make Christmas better for him, not worse. Now he’s spending frigging Christmas ditching drugs and worrying that this whole damn family hates him, thinking I only wanted to do couple’s Christmas to avoid my own drama. Not like he’s wrong. I’m an asshole. Guy deserves a dose of _nice_.”

“What… what happened to make Cas hate Christmas? I never asked.”

“His Dad left a week before Christmas,” Dean says, “And his Mom chucked him out on Christmas Day when Gabe outed him by accident. I wasn’t being a dick at Thanksgiving. Well, I was being a dick, but Christmas with the Milton’s would be a total shitstorm. It’s in the past, theoretically. Naomi apologised, but it’s… Some relationships you can’t unsink. You can’t unhit the iceberg, you know?” 

“Dean,” Sam says, his voice holding enough emotion of some kind that Dean has to turn round and actually look at him. His black eye has blossomed. He clearly hasn’t slept. Dean suddenly wishes he’d stopped talking just a little sooner. “Can I help? With Christmas dinner,”

“Sure,” Dean says, squaring up his shoulders before gesturing at the veg, "Get chopping, Sam.” And that’s how he winds up cooking a belated Christmas Dinner with his little brother in complete silence. 

*

“I’m here for a doctor’s note,” Dean says, knocking on the door of Jo’s break room and taking a step inside. Jo’s on the kind of awkward shift that means the break room’s almost empty, which is about as close to private as Dean’s gonna get today. If he was being sensible, he’d wait for Christmas to blow over a little more, but he got into a circle of thinking about how bad he’s let Cas down with _Christmas_ to the point where he needed to fix everything, immediately. 

“You need a surgical consult for that?”

“Missouri won’t let Cas do it. I’m making a point,” Dean says, “Just sign me something saying I got stabbed and and we’re all sweet,” 

“Okay,” Jo says, raising an eyebrow, “Shirt off, Winchester,” 

“Nothing to see, Jo, Cas waterproofed me this morning,”

“Dean. Medical professional, here. Plus, Pam owes me,” Jo says, gesturing towards the other occupant of the room. “And she wants to view the goods,”

“Frigging women,” Dean complaints, pulling off his t-shirt, “Hole in my stomach, see?”

“And you didn’t get the actual doctor that treated you to do this because?” Jo says, reaching for her pad and a pen.

“Dunno, Christmas? Was a spectacularly shitty day, Jo. The practical stuff didn’t really cross my mind.”

“It was shitty, all right,” Jo comments, handing him his scrap of paper. “You came all this way for that?”

“Bringing Cas lunch,” Dean says.

“Right,” Jo scoffs.

“Cut the guy some slack, Jo,”

“I thought you were on my side,” Jo says, eyes narrowing at him.

“On your side?” Dean asks, feeling his irritation spike again. 

“Yesterday,” Jo says, “You said I was trying to help,”

“Yeah, _trying_. Didn’t say jack shit about you being successful,” Dean says, grabbing his shirt and pulling it back on. “Me and Cas are partners. Yeah, I called him on him getting on his high horse, but it’s not like the guy was wrong. You needed to butt out. All I was doing yesterday was diffusing a fight.”

“I’m not the one starting fights,” Jo says, folding her arms. 

“That ain’t your business,” 

“He yelled at you,”

“You’re yelling at me right frigging now, Jo, it happens. Sometimes people fight.”

“Christmas. Thanksgiving. _Last_ Christmas. The whole hospital knew about your big bust up right before Ruby crashed the party - ”

“When the guy dropped the whole dumb fight and came through to support me. Cas _always_ comes through for me, Jo. Every damn time.”

“You say that like we don’t,” Jo says, voice heated.

“Well if the boot fits,” Dean snaps back, then regrets it almost immediately. He doesn’t _mean_ that he just… he wasn’t expecting a frigging attack. He wasn’t expecting Jo to start sending accusations his way. “I’m just saying, Jo, this family ain’t exactly a walk in the park,”

“The _second_ Cas came into the picture you pushed everyone out. _Years_ of giving family first lectures and you’re out. You didn’t tell us you were together. You just let us find out. You didn’t tell us you’d moved in together. You didn’t tell us you were buying a house. You barely let us know him, Dean, then when he shows up you expect us to treat him like family when he’s the reason you’ve been pulling away - “

“ - No fucking way, Jo,”

“Three Christmases, now - ” 

“There were _reasons_. I was dealing with Dad,”

“So was I,” Jo snaps back, expression fierce. 

“He wasn’t your father, Jo. It's different.” 

“And what about Sam?” Jo demands, “You’ve ditched him for all these Christmases too, Dean. It’s not just me and Mom and Bobby. It’s holding on to your stupid grudge -”

“I _dealt_ with that with Sam,”

“Yeah,” Jo scoffs, “It _looks_ dealt with. Sam’s face is screaming we’ve resolved all our issues’ right now. Whatever, Dean. Do what you want. Act like Bobby didn’t do everything he could to help you when Sam was in the wind. Act like Mom doesn’t think of you as one of her own. Act like a frigging martyr if it helps you sleep at night, just don’t get mad at us for looking for you.” Jo finishes, then she’s storming out the goddamn break room, leaving Dean staring dumbly at her retreating back.

“You okay there, hotstuff?” Pam asks, after Dean’s gritted his teeth and not moved an inch a long minute later.

“Merry fucking Christmas, Pam,” Dean says, pocketing Jo’s note and storming off to find Missouri. 

*

He sets up Christmas dinner in Missouri’s office because she’s a closet romantic, even if she was the opposite of impressed by him getting his doctor’s note from Jo. He’s inhaled two hospital coffees and paced half a dozen hospital corridors but it’s only gotten him more worked up about the stupid fight with Jo because, damnit… yes, he managed the assimilation of Cas and his family badly, but he wasn’t _hiding_ anything. Jo’s twisted all of it. She’s turned it into something that it’s not. She’s made it sound like he abandoned his family and set up Cas to fail, which is the exact opposite of what he’s ever wanted to do and it’s… he’s so fed up of Christmas. He’s fed up of emotions running high and forced family get togethers. He just wants to hibernate from all of the fucking mess with his family and hideout with Cas, which is irritating as hell, because it means Jo might actually be _right_. 

Cas is comically surprised when he opens the door of Missouri’s office and finds Dean sat at her desk with a full roast dinner in tuppawear pots. He stops short in the doorway and blinks at him. Dean was gonna say something witty and charming, but Jo’s driven anything funny out of his head. Instead he just blinks back at the guy until Cas has processed what’s actually happened and that, yes, Dean got Missouri to fake call him to her office in his lunch in order to try and salvage something of their couples Christmas. 

“This is not what I meant by resting,” Cas says, the corners of his lips pulling up into a smile.

“Grubs up,” Dean says, voice coming out a little flat, as he pushes a fork in Cas’ direction.

“Dean,”

“You deserved a Christmas that didn’t suck. This is the best I can deliver.”

“Dean,” Cas says again, stepping into his space to kiss him. That helps Dean’s crappy mood a little. It helps more that Dean can use Cas’ lab coat to drag him closer and push all the bullshit out of his head. Damn, Cas is good. Everything with Cas is good. 

“This probably aint what Missouri had in mind when she leant me her office,” Dean says, pulling away.

“What’s wrong, Dean?”

“Fuck’s sake,” Dean says, “Even screwing up my apology Christmas. So much for belated festivity. I just had this dumb fight with Jo. It doesn’t… do you think I’ve kept my family out of our lives? No, I _know_ I did that. I know I frigging did it, I just dunno why the hell I did it, and why it stuck. And how come you didn’t push me on it? You should be teaming up with my family to give me a hard time about stuff. They should be on your side in our fights. You and Sam should be nerdy best buddies. That’s how it should work.”

“Dean,” Cas says, “You said earlier I’m not what your family expected. I’ve been thinking about that further. Do you know what you meant?” 

“What?” Dean asks. “Do I know what myself meant by my own words? Yes. I do. Have some food, Cas. It’ll get cold.” 

“This looks delicious,”

“Seasoned with angst and Christmas misery,” Dean mutters, pressing a fist into his forehead, “You’re just...Lisa made sense to them, I guess, even if that was fucked from the beginning. I mean, why _didn’t_ I just frigging tell them we’d moved in together? Told myself some bullshit excuse about us being busy but… it figures it doesn’t make sense to them. I didn’t _tell_ them anything. I figured they’d… extrapolate. This is some A grade self destructive crap. A real Dean Winchester special,”

“Your brother found out about us due to a slip up in a phone conversation, then he more or less walked in on us, Dean,” Cas interjects, “You didn’t have time to process,”

“Process what? You’re good, Cas, but you’re not that good. You didn’t break my frigging head.”

“Jo overheard a conversation and called you out on it. At the time I thought it was a good thing, but…”

“Out on _what_?” Dean asks, “Help me out here, Cas.”

Cas sets down his fork.

“You never actually came out to any of your family,”

“No,” Dean says, “I cannot have been having a gay crisis for two fucking years. No. Fuck. _Fuck_. It’s not like they don’t _know_.”

“Yes, I’m sure they’ve noticed,” Cas says gently, “But they were, remarkably, unaware of your attraction to men until we were together,”

“Hey, I ain’t that obvious,” Dean mutters, massaging his forehead.

“You went from being ‘straight’ to being in a serious relationship with someone of the same sex,”

“Cas, air quotes are not your thing,” Dean says, “You know I don’t… damnit, this isn’t a problem for me,”

“I’m not saying it is, Dean,” Cas says, “But… in the beginning, it occasionally made you uncomfortable. You’d overthink what other people thought. You were still getting used to the idea. Of course you were more reserved with details with your family as a consequence, despite the fact that none of them have an issue. Dean, everyone struggles with this at some point, it just…”

“Took me a long ass time to get there?” Dean substitutes, “Perfect.”

“This is an excellent Christmas Dinner,”

“Sam helped,” Dean says, face buried in his hands, “I don’t even know how to fix this, Cas.”

“Perhaps we host Christmas next year as a goodwill gesture,”

“Hilarious,” Dean says, “Well, this has been a good talk. Excuse me whilst I bang my head against a wall repeatedly.”

“As your doctor, I’d advise against it,” Cas says, “Dean, this isn’t a big deal. It feels like a big deal because it’s Christmas and you’re emotional and you were stabbed yesterday. You’re arguing with your brother. You’re upset about Ruby. Please do not needlessly obsess about this,”

“You were upset earlier,” 

“I was,” Cas says, “And then my fiance made me a Christmas dinner and hijacked someone’s office because he was worried about me and that made me less upset.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Cas smiles, dragging his chair closer and smiling at him, “Thank you, Dean. This is very thoughtful of you. Now, in true Christmas tradition, I suggest we pretend we do not know the meaning of family drama and enjoy eating too much.”

He doesn’t quite manage to shift his gloominess and it’s not the romantic gesture he was aiming for, but it’s still nice.


	7. Chapter 7

“Given how self involved your family are I’m surprised Sammo managed to take a detour to a crack den,” Ruby comments, picking at the thread of her hospital gown. She’s under observation whilst they work out what the hell to do with her or who to refer her on to and she’s been very vocal about how she feels about that. Dean is kind of sympathetic, because it feels like it shouldn’t take three whole days to figure out a course of action. In medical terms, that’s a life time. Still, an irritable Ruby is not exactly Dean’s idea of good time.

“Can it, Ruby,”

“I guess you followed him,” Ruby says, all sharp angles and bitterness, so who the hell knows why the hell Dean’s been telling her about his shitty Christmas for the last thirty minutes. He skimped some details. Last thing Ruby needs is thinking she’s still ruining Sam’s life (if she even cares, that is, because jury’s out on that one). “In summary: you drove over to your surrogate parents after seeing Cas to have some magical Christmas moment, blah blah blah, and walked into your _not_ sister bitching about your boyfriend to your not-parents and you went home and cried into your Christmas sweater. Boohoo, Winchester. You got stabbed the day before that. Get some perspective.” 

“Why am I even speaking to you?” Dean grimaces, massaging his forehead.

“Cas is at work and you’re avoiding your brother,”

“Right,” Dean says, checking his watch, “Fucking hospital shifts, man. Never been so glad we’re in the same business. Would suck to work a nine till five if Cas was on this twelve hour bullcrap.”

“Hit me with it. What did Jo actually say about Cas that made you abandon your storming the barricades to make nice plan?”

“Why are you pretending to care about this?”

“I care,” Ruby says, voice twisted into mockery. She’s quoting his line from Christmas back at him because she’s a total fucking bitch. Goddamnit. “I _care_ Winchester,”

“Me and Jo were already butting heads. Jo’s a hot headed mess. Jo is a whatever. She’s just a kid I don’t… I was only there to make nice and it turns out they’re all talking ‘bout my freaking relationship like it’s any of their business - “

“ - Pretty sure this thing started because you wanted it to be their business,”

“Sam was there, okay? Sam was there in this group chat of bad mouthing Cas the day after the guy went running into a drug deal to help Sam out.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ruby scoffs, “Look, I know that kicked puppy. He spent years crucifying himself with guilt over hurting you - “

“ - he walked out, Ruby. He _stole_ from me, he lied to me, he -”

“ - Yeah, I get it. I was there,” Ruby cuts across, voice harsh, cutting. “And he wanted to do whatever it was that would make you happy. He wanted to do rehab. He wanted to pay you back. More than anything, he wanted you to _understand_ that fucked up addict logic, because Sam is just as screwed up in the head about your codependency as you are. He ran away because he couldn’t stand you looking at him like he was broken and like you’d given up on fixing him.”

“I’ve _never_ given up on that kid.”

“You think I didn’t tell him that?” Ruby laughs, a bitter thing. “I did. At first. And then I liked us being a two and he was just oh so easy to manipulate. I mean, come on? I had to get you out of the picture.”

“Ruby, stop.”

“Better crack. _More_ crack. Talking him into injecting the first time was hard, but the second? Didn’t even hesitate.”

“Shut up,” Dean says through gritted teeth, “I know that’s not how it happened, Ruby. Sam told me how it went down. Into the fire together. He _said_ it was his fault as much as yours. He -” 

“ - yeah, he would,” Ruby says, “And he’s right, about how it began. We were just kids,” “Right,” Dean says, his gut twisting, “You were in college, Ruby. A _good_ college. You had a whole fucking future at your feet -”

“ - the future wasn’t the problem -” 

“ - I was _sending Sam money_ for his dumb books and…”

“And he didn’t just buy books,” Ruby says, mouth twisting into a smile, “He wanted you to be proud of him. He wanted to push out the way your Dad -”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Ruby,” Dean says, standing up and beginning to pace. HIs heart’s pounding and he feels sick and he should just leave. He should just walk out before Ruby has a chance to say anything more about _John Winchester_. 

“You need to hear this, Winchester.”

“I don’t need to hear _anything_ ,”

“The first time I met Sam he told me all about how he felt like the black sheep of the family. About John’s disapproval. About his drinking. About how you’d do anything to make John Winchester happy. About how you’d do anything to make _Sam_ happy. About how he couldn’t do the same.”

“Dad was _always_ proud of Sam. The only damn reason they butted heads is cause Dad couldn’t control him. At least Dad gave a damn about what the hell Sam was doing. It _destroyed_ him when Sam left.”

“John told him that if he was going he should stay gone,” Ruby says, “And Stanford was hard, Dean. He didn’t fit in. He _missed_ you. He knew you were pissed he’d left. He knew John wouldn’t speak to him. Sam, stubborn, independent, lonely, Sam. He failed his first class. Did you know that? It’s a big jump from high school. He’d always been top of the class...Then he’s failing and alone with no idea where to turn to. The cocaine helped. It _helped_ , until it didn’t. Until we weren’t in control anymore.” 

Dean’s staring at the ground feeling sick.

“And now he’s back in control. He’s on the other side knowing you’d forgive him for anything with a list of things he’s never going to forgive himself for. He knows that you’d go to hell and back to save his ass and you think he’s gonna screw with that by badmouthing Dr Frownalot? Please. What did you hear him actually say?”

“I need to pick up Cas from work,” Dean says, standing up and swallowing back the bile at the back of his throat, “Good talk.”

*

“Hello Dean,” Cas says, sliding into the front seat of the impala and leaning forward to kiss him, “Thank you for picking me up.”

“Always looking to pick you up, Cas,” Dean throws back, curling a hand over Castiel’s jaw and holding him there to kiss him again. “So I was thinking we should go out for dinner.”

“Dean, I’ve just finished a fourteen hour shift, if you’re just avoiding your brother - ”

“Please,”

Castiel must hear something in his voice that makes him pause, because instead of launching into a spiel about how Dean needs to make amends with Sam he just looks at him. In that past few days, Dean’s been treated to a list of sixteen reasons as to why he should start talking to Sam again ( from ‘he helped you make Christmas dinner, Dean’ to ‘I feel very awkward acting as a messenger for you’ to ‘it’s Christmas Dean: a time of forgiveness’ which he was pretty sure was a joke), but he’s been fairly unobtrusive about it. He definitely understands just why Dean’s being such a baby about this. He gets it. He’s just feeling pretty awkward about it. 

“Okay,” Cas says, settling back on the seat. Dean feels a sudden upsurge of affection and relief for the guy because he really, really can’t face going home right now. He needs some space to process. He needs a little longer than the half hour detour he took on the way here. He needs a lifetime to think on that bucket of crap Ruby just threw at him.

“How was work?” Dean asks, taking a moment to squeeze Cas’ knee before pulling out of the parking lot.

“Exceedingly long. It seems less long when you’re not at home,”

“Preach, dude,” Dean says, “Fourteen hours is a frigging lifetime. Any luck on switching off your day on day offs next week?”

“Unfortunately not,”

“Screw that,” 

“How’s your wound?”

“Fine,” Dean says, “Healing okay.”

“How was your day?”

“Dull. Crappy. Long,” Dean returns, rolling back his shoulders as he takes a left towards Castiel’s favourite dinner place. As long he’s dragging Cas out for a meal he might as well take him somewhere nice. “I love you, you know that?”

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just… love you.”

“Obviously, Dean,” Castiel says, “But you’re usually reserved in professing your affections.”

“Your face is reserved,” Dean says, “Can we just eat?”

“If that’s what you want,”

“Yeah, it’s what I want,” Dean says, as they pull into the parking lot. He’s acting like an asshole, but he’s at least trying not to be an asshole _to_ Cas. None of this is his fault. He inherited this bullshit when he shacked up with Dean. “Thanks, man,” Dean exhales, whilst they’re waiting to be seated.

“You’re paying,”

“Deal,” Dean says, fighting the smallest of smiles despite himself. Up until the point where they’re lead to a Christmas-tree adjacent table for two anyway because, damnit, that’s the last thing he needs right now. “It’s the twenty eighth of December. Why the hell are there still decorations up?”

“Some people like to draw out the festivities,” Cas says, thumbing through the menu without really reacting. He’s used to Dean being a moody douchebag. 

“Well it’s load of bullcrap,” Dean mutters, “Frigging tinsel. I thought this was a classy joint,”

“I wasn’t aware tinsel and classy were mutually exclusive.”

“Don’t look at the Christmas menu.. It’s capitalist bullshit. Call anything Christmassey and you can add ten percent on the bill even if it’s exactly the frigging same as the regular menu,”

“They have roast beef,”

“Get a steak if you want beef,”

“You said it’s overpriced and that you could cook a better steak,”

“I could, that’s not the point. Cas.”

“What happened today?” Cas says, laying down his menu to fix him with one of those piercing stares. It’s the kind of sharp blue thing that means there’s no point in Dean trying to blow him off. Anyway, Cas deserves an explanation. 

“Ruby,”

“I _hope_ you were politer to her than -”

“ - I wasn’t,” Dean says, “But she was pushing my buttons.”

“Dean, she was hospitalised _three days ago_ after -” 

“ - I know, damnit. We have a… she was talking about Sam. Trying to get me to forgive him for the twenty sixth,”

“What happened on the twenty sixth?”

He’d forgotten that he’d elected not to tell Cas about that. That’s definitely something he should have remembered before starting to whine about all this crap. Damnit.

“You were talking round Jess and I went over to Bobby and Ellen’s to talk and I walked into a - thought I walked into, anyway - them all talking ‘bout how you’re uh… a little cold.” 

“And you neglected to mention this to spare my feelings,” Cas says, voice measured and calm. “Dean,”

“I was gonna try and _fix_ this crap and it… Sam was there. I didn’t stick around to hear what he said, just for long enough to hear he was there and I got a little…”

“And Ruby pointed out that the conclusion you jumped to was rash,”

“No,” Dean says, “She did, but uh...she knows a lot about Sam, Cas, everything. All of it. All of our family crap. About _Dad_ , about me, our childhood. About why he starting using in the first place. Crap that I didn’t even… things I didn’t even know about how Sam felt. Things I didn’t even know I didn’t know.”

“They were in a relationship for a significant length of time, Dean,” Cas says, his voice gentle and low. He hasn’t even bothered looking at the menu again. He’s just looking at him. “There are things I know about how you feel that your brother doesn’t know,”

That’s true. Dean’s pretty sure part of the reason why Cas and Sam’s relationships never quite slotted into place is because Dean spilled out all of the ways their history was still hurting him, but he needed that. He needed Castiel to be on his side, even if there _wasn’t_ a side, not really, and Sam was just… a little wary after a skipped Christmas and Dean being tight lipped about the whole thing from the off. In part because of the guy thing and in part just because all their family crap was still such a mess he needed things to be separate. He needed a little space to figure things out. 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Dean says, “I know. I know that, I just… It’s Ruby. I don’t really like thinking about them having a history. A _romantic_ history. It’s…”

“Difficult,” Cas says, reaching forward to take Dean’s hand, “It’s okay to still be blind sighted by this,”

“It was a long time ago now, Cas,”

“If something really hurt, sometimes time only makes you forget how much until something reminds you,”

“Until Christmas rolls around,”

“Exactly,” Cas says.

“Get the roast beef, Cas,” Dean says, flicking the menu shut, “And order me somethin’ from the Christmas menu. And a beer. I’m gonna hit the head.”

*

It winds up being a surprisingly good date. Good enough that Dean ends up insisting on opening the Impala door for Cas and throwing an arm over his shoulders. Cas leans into his body heat, close and warm, and Dean just really fucking loves him. Loves the way Cas uses both hands to cup his jaw and kiss him whilst Dean’s trying to unlock the front door. Loves the way they wind up stumbling through the doorway mid kiss, with Cas scrabbling to push his leather jacket off his shoulders and Dean dropping the keys to get to the guy’s waist.

“Uh, hi guys,” Sam says, which is effectively an ice bucket over his head and thoroughly kills the mood. God _damnit_.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean manages, slamming his eyes shut. Sam’s voice is coming from the front room which means he was probably watching TV before they burst in making out. It’s probably a _good_ thing that Sam interrupted them, for all of their sanity. 

“Hello, Sam,”

“Probably for the best,” Dean says after a few seconds of resetting his brain into Sam-is-here-mode, reaching to grab the keys for the floor, “Don’t wanna rip my sutures,”

“Okay, I didn’t need that image,”

“And yet you need my spare room. Them’s the breaks, Sam,” Dean says, locking up behind him and steadying his thoughts with a breath. He really really needs to stop being an asshole to Sam. He hasn’t quite decided whether or not he deserves it, yet, but he knows he’s gotta stop. It’s not helping. It’s really not helping any of them. And then he _looks_ at Sam and gets the familiar jolt of sixteen hundred kinds of feelings; the hurt and the betrayal and the _love_ and his pride and the fact that, if Sam’s okay, he finds it hard to find too much fault with the world. For a long damn time, Sam and Dad were dictating his happiness. It’s a really _good_ thing that he’s got other crap in his life. Sam, lately, has been happier than Dean’s ever seen him. It kind of felt like Sam was beginning to forgive himself and maybe, despite all the crap he’s said, Dean’s not actually okay with that. Maybe that’s why it made him so freaking angry to find him there with Ruby. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Sam says, but his red eyed and miserable, with some dumb Christmas movie running on the background that Sam probably should have switched over from before it started. He’s poking a wound right now. Dean’s _been_ there. Sometimes you’ve gotta shut the door on festivities and heal a little first. 

“Right,” Dean scoffs, “Cause crying over Christmas movies is the pinnacle of okay. You wanna whip up some eggnog, drink your feelings and drunk dial your girlfriend next?” 

“Just… Christmas,” Sam says, puppy dog eyes on top form. 

“I hear you,” Dean says, shrugging off his jacket and half stepping into the room. He wants to make this better for Sam more than he’s mad at him. He _wants_ Jess to call him and forgive his sorry ass. He wants the daily meetups Cas has been having with Jess to start working. He wants good things for Sam. He wants him not to make stupid, dumb decisions because he can’t let go at the past. 

“I have a proposal,” 

“Missed the boat there, Cas,” Dean says, gesturing to the ring hung on a chain round his neck, because he has a pathological need to make light of any situation. Neither of them smile, but he wasn’t really expecting them to. The whole house has been tense for three days.

“We should take down the Christmas decorations,” 

“No, that’s awesome. We can make it a thing. A real party. Put on some music. Be like, the opposite of the putting the decorations up tradition. Not that it’s gonna take long,” Dean acknowledges, glancing at the tree he put up, more because it felt like a statement not to put one up than out of any desire to have a tree up. It was in one of the weeks that they were mid-argument and they were kind of not talking, so Dean put it up alone. He got back from a shift to find that Cas had strung up some extra lights and ornaments, though, so it worked out as a group effort. Just… seperately. “Let’s rip this festive season down,”

“I could… uh, leave you guys to it,”

“No,” Dean says. It comes out a little harsh. Defensive. “If you’re here, then you’re here. I’ll get some beers.”

When he comes back into the room, Cas is telling Sam about today’s lunch with Jessica in his familiar low, serious doctor voice. Sam is drinking in every detail that Cas has stored up, about what she ate and what she said and how mad she still is, and Dean settles against the doorframe to watch them for a few moments.

Even if this whole thing has been a total shitstorm, at least Sam has gotten to know Cas a little more.

*

It’s the twenty ninth of December and he’s got less than two days before their required attendance at the traditional Singer-Harvelle New Year’s Eve party, when he’s gonna be facing his extended family for the first time since Christmas. He’s not convinced they know he’s been avoiding them (Jo probably does and, given he’s had no messages from Bobby or Ellen, he figures they decided to give him a little space), but it absolutely would not fly with them for him not to attend. He’s been given hell for that before and it aint worth it.

On balance, Dean thinks it’s better to break the silence before there’s copious amounts of alcohol around.

“Dean,” Jo says, answering the door with a not-quite-smile. 

“Hey,” Dean says, then they just stare at each other for a few seconds. It’s not like he likes arguing with Jo, but it doesn’t get to him in the way that arguing with Sam does. Jo is righteous and forceful and used to spending most days of the week with a bunch of ‘muttonhead’ surgeons where she has to fight to be taken seriously. Dean’s hot headed and can’t help rising to the bait. She just cares and as a result they clash sometimes. Dean gets that. 

“We need you on pie crust,” Jo says, turning to walk towards the kitchen. Ellen’s stirring pie filling and, goddamn, it smells amazing. The whole frigging place smells amazing and maybe they _should_ come to Ellen and Bobby’s for Christmas next year.

“You lose our number, Dean?”

“No mam,” Dean says, which wins him a dishcloth thrown in his direction and an eye roll, “I was resting. Doctor’s orders. I got stabbed, you know,” 

“Save us the violins,” Bobby grouses, appearing in the front room, “You pulled your head out of your ass, boy?”

“You all finished whoring out your opinions on my finance?” Dean counters, striping off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves to get to the pie crust. “Cause I can go if you wanna keep yammering,”

“Maybe,” Bobby says, “If you’d stop jumping down our throats for five minutes in the past two years we could’ve talked about this like grown ups. This whole damn things so juvenile I’m about ready to pick up some diapers and check into preschool,”

He wants to snap that _Jo started it_ so damn bad. 

“The point is, you got no right to have a problem with Cas,” Dean says, furiously measuring out the flour. 

“Hey, kid,” Ellen interjects, “You come barrelling out of a long term thing with Lisa, cut up about John and Sam and straight into somethin’ you ain’t sharing with us, you can’t order us into quitting worrying about you.”

“I get that,” Dean says, damn near throwing the butter into the bowl, “I don’t _get_ how that turns into you being rude to his face,”

“He yelled at you a family gathering,” Jo says.

“Damnit, I don’t care!” Dean says, “I pretty much did the same thing to Cas at Thanksgiving and no one frigging ran me out of the event. Hell, I gave Sam a black eye four days ago and everyone still wished me a Merry Christmas. The guy spent Christmas Day avoiding you all at the hospital to get jumped in the parking lot -” 

“ - I aint starting this argument again, Dean.”

“And I come round the day after to find you all talking about how damn cold he is, like you even know the guy.”

“Like that ain’t taken out of context,” Bobby interjects.

“I don’t _care_ about the context. What if Cas had been with me? You think he’d have hung around to wait for the freaking context. Goddamnit. I _get_ that you’re worried at me. I get it. But I need you to be a little _less cold_ to Cas,” 

“What do you want, Dean?” Ellen asks and, holy crap, she’s listening. She’s actually listening to him.

“I want you to treat him like family with all the allowances that you give to family, which he’s gonna be, legally, in the spring. So deal with it.”

“You set a date?”

“Working on it,”

“Congratulations, Kiddo,”

“This conversation is giving my whiplash.”

“You know what I think? It’s about damn time you had your own life. Damn near miracle you let someone in like that,” Bobby says, “I’m on side with anyone who looks out for your dumb ass,” 

“Okay,” Dean says, shoulders deflating.

“And for all your bellyachin’, I never said different.” 

“I’m just calling it how I see it, Bobby,”

“And I’m sayin’ you need to get your eyes checked,” Bobby says, “Now, we done? This supply run aint running itself”

“We’re done,” Dean says, digging his fingers into the flour and the butter. He’s a purist when it comes to pie. Handmaid is the best and even Ellen defers to him for the crust if he’s available. “We don’t not like him,” Jo says, which is the nearest thing he’s going to get to an apology, “We just…”

“Don’t know him,” Dean supplies. His chest feels weirdly constricted. He’s got no idea whether the last ten minutes were productive or not, except at least he _knows_ that Cas has Bobby’s seal of approval. “I know, I just…” Dean begins and he thinks, for a split second, that he’s about to start talking about the gay-crisis he might have been accidentally having for the first, like, year of their relationship and then his phone’s ringing. He manages to wrangle the damn thing out of his pocket and onto the counter without spreading too much pie filling everywhere, but given he’d already started rubbing the butter and flour in it’s still a botch job. “Speak of the devil,”

“Answer it,” Jo says, which is another gift. “It’s fine.”

He hits answer with his elbow and just about manages to put it on speaker. 

“What’s up Doc?”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, voice all warm and gorgeous. As much as grumpy Cas is frigging cute, Cas when his good moods are just about his favourite thing. That lilt to his voice. Those rare smiles. Dean’s got no idea why they’ve wasted so much damn time arguing about nothing. “You sound happy,” Dean comments, glancing back to where Jo and Ellen are sat at the table. He should warn the guy that he’s on speaker but there’s a part of him that just… doesn’t. If he does that, Cas is going to put his guard back up. He’s going to be as cold as as Jo and Ellen declared him to be, because Cas isn’t the best in awkward social situations. They’re never gonna get anywhere if that keeps happening. They don’t _know_ Cas. 

“I have good news,” 

“I’m listening,”

“Tessa’s husband cut his leg on a broken glass,”

“Little vindictive for you, Cas,”

“He’s fine, Dean, but he was in the ER today,” Castiel says, “I stitched him up,”

“Since when were you in the ER?”

“News travels,”

“Know that tune,” Dean says, “Okay. So you heard the guy got banged up and you switched some things to wind up in the ER. Why? You botch his stitches?”

“No, Dean, my medical license is not worth compromising for causing minimal amounts of pain to someone who’s merely hurting over losing their wife. No, I stitched him up perfectly.”

“And that’s the good news? Cause I gotta say, not your best effort. Aim higher.”

“I got Charlie to call me Doctor Milton-Winchester to make sure he knew who I was. Tessa spoke about you often so I was working on the assumption he’d put two and two together.”

“Nice,”

“And then Charlie asked about how you were coping with your time off, which may have seemed as though you’d been suspended,”

“Dude,”

“Which would have been ridiculous, obviously, given you did nothing wrong. And then I bought him coffee,”

“You bought him _coffee_.”

“And I wished him a Happy New Year,”

“So far, not getting it,”

“And he said he’d drop the case,”

“Did you just _nice_ the guy out of sueing my ass? What the hell, Cas?” 

“It’s largely irrelevant, given I’m sure it would have been dropped anyway, but this saves time. He said that Christmas had made him rethink his earlier position, so he might have already decided but -”

“Cas, you’re awesome. And Missouri just let you switch?”

“She isn’t yet aware. I will probably get in trouble when she is aware,”

“Dude,”

“And, Dean, I _liked_ being called Dr Milton-Winchester. I know our previous discussion we ruled out name changes but, if you don’t mind - “

“You wanna be a Winchester?”

“I would be honoured,”

“You, uh, want me to match you. Two for the name changing forms?”

“No, Dean, I know you don’t want that,”

“Well okay, Dr Milton-Winchester,” Dean grins.

“And I’ve secured an earlier shift so I won’t miss the beginning of the shindig,”

“Okay, it’s weird when you quote me at myself. Please never, ever use the word shindig again,” Dean says, fingers digging into the flour, “They’re letting you out early for good behaviour, huh? How d’you swing that?”

“I know you were wary about this party but your family are very important to you, Dean, and they’re merely worried about you. This way we can arrive together which -”

“ -yeah, that’s good,” Dean says, turning round to look at Jo and Ellen, which is kind of an asshole move really. The whole thing might just be helping, though. Jo is staring at the fridge but she’s clearly listening. Ellen is smiling like the whole damn thing is cute (which they are; he never really realised that until Sam was permanently in his house again). That’s good. Cas is being Cas-like rather than formal, doctor Cas and it’s good.

“And I can take your sutures beforehand which means that we can -”

Dean ends up getting butter-and-flour-breadcrumbs all over the counter in his haste to take the damn thing off speaker before Cas can say anything about what they can do when his sutures are out. 

Jo outwardly laughs.

“Yep,” Dean interjects, before Cas can keep speaking, feeling his face flushing slightly. He lets himself into the corridor and shuts the kitchen door behind him, a trail of crumbs in his wake. “That sounded like Jo,”

“Yeah,” Dean confirms, “I’m at Bobby’s. She’s off today. Making food for the big party. You were on speaker. Uh, sorry if that pisses you off. I just wanted to…”

“Have you talked?”

“Affirmative,” Dean says, “Dunno whether it stuck or how I even feel about it, but we talked.”

“And have you spoken to your brother today?”

“No,” Dean makes a face, leaning against the wall in his pseudo parents front room. They’ve still got their decorations up. Cas still isn’t sure whether Jess is going to come to the New Years Party. He’s got no idea how the hell Ruby is going to fit into their lives, but it looks a little like she might be there to stay. At some point in the new year, he’s got to go to Maine to visit Cas’ crappy family because he already bought the damn tickets. Tessa’s husband wants to drop the case, though, if it’s not gone too far for him to back out. That’s something. “Maybe next year I won’t be mad anymore,”

“That is in two days,”

“I’m nothing if not ambitious,” Dean throws back, “But that’s good news, Cas. Really good news.” 

“I should get back to my shift,” Cas says, “Will you be okay?”

“Always,” Dean says, “Roger that. And _yes_ to rescheduling our hot anniversary sex.”

He gives himself a few seconds of peace before stepping back into the fray.

Goddamnit, this festive period has been exhausting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Eve all! May your Christmasses by less stressful than Dean's!


	8. Chapter 8

Cas stumbles into the front room in the middle of fourth episode of Doctor Sexy Dean hasn’t really watched. He’d gotten up just before two. He hasn’t got the brainpower to work out what that means about the time, other than that it’s definitely not time for Castiel to wake up yet.

“Dean,” Cas says, which pulls him a little out of his thoughts. He’d turned out. He’s just been sat there, but Cas’ voice is more gravel and depth at night and always had the power to control gravity, pulling Dean into his orbit. That’s how Cas managed to be the one to get Dean to face up to a whole host of things he’d not been dealing with. That’s how it _bothered_ him in the first place when Cas didn’t seem to take to him. “How long have you been awake?” 

“Dunno,” Dean mutters, the word clogging up in his throat, “Kept thinking,” 

“Dean,” 

“It’s all of this, you know,” Dean says, gaze still fixed on the TV screen, fingers clutched around the beer he got himself when he first got up that he hasn’t touched yet. He’s not intending to elaborate, but Cas waits him out. He just kneels down in front of him in his sweatpants and rests a hand on Dean’s knee. It’s grounding and unobtrusive in a way that actually helps. Dean swallows and meets his eye. 

“Ruby’s Mom dying at christmas when she was a kid. I just… I get that. I get being just old enough to see the holes in your family and not being old enough to do anything. Never figured I’d _relate_ to Ruby but… And _Sam_. I had no goddamn idea how he felt about Dad, Cas. I get that it sucked. Our whole freaking childhood… Dad ditching us for work and leaving us with a couple of boxes of mac and cheese and some lucky charms and the TV remote, but I thought Sammy had it okay. It was my responsibility to make sure Sam was okay,” 

“You know that’s not fair,” 

“Yeah, I do,” Dean agrees, “None of it was fair. On any of us, but the whole point of everything me and Dad were doing was to make sure Sam was gonna be okay. And just… Sam and Ruby bonded over how broken they felt and there’s me breaking my fucking back trying to fix everything without ever understanding the problem. Hell, maybe Sam was right. Maybe Dad did think of him as some…. Some black sheep just cause no one could ever tell him what to do. He said, Dad, that if I couldn’t get him off the drugs then I had to cut him off. That I was enabling him. Not saying he was wrong. Was still sending him money for a while cause I didn’t know what the hell else to do so I… yeah, I enabled, but somehow it became up to me. I had to save him or write him off. I had to… it was _my_ fault. I was supposed to save Sammy and he wouldn’t listen. Dad checked out of the whole thing. Drinking. Disappearing. I’m split in two not knowing who the hell I’m supposed to be trying to help and screwing up both. And I picked Sam, in the end. I figured that’s what Dad _wanted_ because Sam was the priority and then he disappeared and Dad disappeared, damnit, Cas, it was all such a mess. And I just keep _thinking_.” 

“And Dad. It just hit me that I don’t even know if he’d be glad I’m happy now. Happy like this. I mean, _nursing_. He always made it pretty clear what he thought I was and wasn’t capable of. Doubt he’d have seen this as an option. And he… you know, I think he’d like the fact that his death is what shocked Sam into sobriety. Sometime I thinks that’s what he’d _meant_ to happen because he’d… he’d have done anything he could to fix things. Anything. Part of my crappy boundaries comes from him. And despite all of that I haven’t got a damn clue what he’d make of you. Of you being a dude. I don’t know. And now I don’t get to know. Sometimes that seems easier and that sucks. It _sucks_.” 

Cas smooths a thumb over his knee. Still just listening. Solid. 

“And the malpractice case. I know he said he was gonna drop the case, but it… that poor fucking guy spending his first Christmas alone after Tessa fought for _years_ and I…” His voice breaks and Cas takes his spare hand, instead. He’s not quite shaking, but he’s not steady either. “What if my dumb decisions cost her her last Christmas?” 

“Dean,” 

“And you deserve so much better than this mess, Cas, I’ve screwed everything up every which way and you ... you should be asleep, man, you’ve got work tomorrow. You gotta get some rest. People’s lives depend on you firing on all cylinders.” 

“I have many cylinders, Dean, it’s fine.” 

“Go back to bed, Cas,” 

“Are you coming?” 

“No,” Dean says, swallowing, “I’m just gonna…” he trails off and nods back towards the television. The disk ran to the end at some point whilst Dean was spilling his soul. The menu’s music is playing on repeat. Cas unclasps Dean’s grip on his beer and sets it on the floor. 

“I’ll sleep here,” Cas says, smoothing a hand over his shoulders and looking at him dead in eye. 

“You don’t have to do that,” 

“I know,” Cas says, “Move over,” 

“Kay,” Dean exhales and sitting up and shifting slightly, “Fucking _December_ , Cas. I’m not usually such a damn basket case,” 

“I have been living with you for an extended period of time,” Cas says, making space for himself next to him, tucking Dean’s hands around his waist. It probably shouldn’t be comfortable to fit two grown ass adults on the damn sofa, but they thought ahead. They got a big sofa. “You hate this season of Doctor Sexy,” 

“Just hit replay,” Dean mutters. At some point during the next three episodes, Cas manages to con him into winding up horizontal on the sofa and, before the end of the season he actually manages to drift off to sleep. 

He wakes up when Castiel gets up for the 6am shift he switched to so they could arrive at the damn New Years Eve party together, which is not something he really wants to think about before sunrise. He's still just about awake enough to think about relocating, just so he doesn't have to explain to Sam why he spent the night on the sofa, though. 

* 

He's spent a lot of the last week picking Cas up from the hospital staff parking lot and it's actually kind of nice. He figures this is how it would be if they didn't work crazy opposing hours or worked normal jobs and it’s about the one thing about the enforced time off he’s actually liked. He’s been bored stupid (and all the day time TV has been festive; freaking all of it) and itching to be useful, but getting to do the how-was-your-day-dear at the end of every one of Cas’ shifts is kind of awesome. If he didn't love his job so damn much...well. It would definitely be something to think about. 

As per the new normal, Cas slips into the front seat and leans across to kiss him hello. He smells sterile and un-Cas-like, but that's not exactly unusual. It takes at least the drive home for the hospital to fade away. 

“Hey,” Dean returns, “You should do my stitches before we drink at this party.” 

“I'm not removing your stitches in the back seat of your car,” Cas deadpans, leaning forward to kiss him again. It’s probably because of the bullshit that was last night which is irritating because he’s _fine_ now (and Cas rang him in his break to check that, anyway, so Cas knows he’s fine). He’s got no idea where the hell that even came from, but he’s slept since then. He’s also eaten an unnecessary amount of bacon and found a couple of new ways to avoid Sam so he’s more or less okay. 

Definitely ready for the new year to roll around to mark an end to this crappy year. 

“Well the front seat's gonna be awkward,” Dean says, “Aint too roomy, Cas.” 

“I know for a fact it is not a sanitary environment,” 

“Only cause _you_ don't know how not to make a mess,” 

“No,” Cas says, in his Doctor voice, which means Dean is not winning this argument. Sometimes he’ll push just for the hell of it, but the second that exact tone of voice comes out Dean’s lost the debate. It also usually means Dean’s being a little unreasonable because Cas doesn’t shut him down without good reason. 

“You're taking them out at Bobby's, or I'm doing it myself,” 

“Fine,” Cas rolls his eyes, “How was your day?” 

“Dull. Need to get back to work. Can you forge me a letter saying I’m good to go?” 

“Yes,” 

“Really?” 

“No,” Cas says. 

“Quit being a smartass or you’ll be looking for someone to kiss at midnight,” Dean says, “Your day okay?” 

“Relatively quiet,” 

“How are we playing this? With my family?” 

“I think the key is not ‘playing’ it?” 

“New year’s resolution, Cas, enough with the air quotes,” Dean says, “But I hear you. Is Jess coming?” 

“She hasn’t decided yet,” 

“Damn,” 

“Christmas caused her to doubt a lot of things she’d been assuming up until that point,” Cas says, “Pregnancy is causing her to reassess,” 

“No kidding,” Dean says, “Growing a frigging human is… big.” 

“How is Sam with children?” 

“I got no idea. Never really seen it,” Dean says, “We haven’t had a whole lot of kids around us.” 

“You’re a natural,” Cas says, “I’ve seen you with families and patients,” 

“I had practice with Sam,” Dean says, “Kids are cool, though.” 

“I’m stilted and awkward,” 

“Nah, you’re not,” Dean counters, “Saw you shaking hands with Mrs Carter’s four year old the week before I was off. Made his day. You just treat ‘em like adults, but kids love that.” 

“Tyler Johnson,” 

“Dude, there’s a difference between _sick_ kids and kids. No one knows what the hell to say to a really sick kid ‘cause we’re all too cut up about it to know what to do with our feelings. Only damn person in the world who’s good at talking to sick kids is Garth and he’s _Garth_.” 

“Is that something you want?” Cas asks, which shouldn’t feel like as much of a conversation jump as it does. In retrospect, he should’ve seen it coming, but he just...he didn’t. They were just filling in the drive with inane chat like they always do and suddenly there’s _that_. “We never discussed it.” 

“I haven’t really thought about it,” 

“Meg mentioned it at Thanksgiving,” 

“Yeah, and you answered like you’d thought about it,” 

“I was deferring because you looked like you were about to have a medical emergency,” 

“They were good arguments against,” Dean says, tightening his grip on the wheel, “That crap you said about shift work and long hours.” 

“You remember,” Cas says, blue gaze fixed on him, “You have thought about it,” 

“About how quick you were to answer, not about anything else.” 

“That wasn’t supposed to be the final say on the matter,” 

“This really the moment, Cas?” Dean asks, “Right now.” 

“I wasn’t intending _this_ to be the final conversation, either.” 

“I’m getting kinda close to forty,” 

“You’re thirty seven next month,” Cas says, “That’s hardly late, particular given we wouldn’t be conceiving the child ourselves anyway. The average age of adoptive parents is approximately forty five,” 

“Cause it takes an age,” 

“Given our professions, I think we’d be considered suitable,” 

“You want this? Or you just thinking I do and I haven’t told you?” 

“I remember your attachment to Ben and how difficult it was for you when your place in his life gradually lessened,” 

“That just worked out that way,” Dean says, “It wasn’t… I wasn’t looking for it. Wasn’t looking for you, either, but I’m sure glad I found you. I don’t have a plan or, I dunno, some checklist of crap I wanted in my life. It wasn’t exactly gonna happen by accident so I haven’t really thought about it. But, honestly, my gut reaction is no.” 

“Do you have a reason?” 

“Sure, I have a reason. Look at what’s happened this past month, Cas. The last two months. Can you imagine a kid in the middle of this chaos? I got whacked priorities enough without being a parent. I don’t wanna turn into my Dad, Cas, but if I thought getting myself killed in a shitty car accident might save my son? I reckon I’d do it, unnecessary risk or not. You know I’d run after Sam again and I know you’d come with me. Last night _alone_. Putting my job on the line to get Tessa home for Thanksgiving. It’s not screaming responsibility, Cas.” 

“No,” Cas agrees. 

“Do _you_ wanna do it? This is kind of a two way thing, here.” 

“I don’t want to give up my job or reduce my hours,” Cas says, “And I don’t think you want to either.” 

“Make more sense financially for me to take time out or whatever,” 

“Dean, training to be a nurse was the first step of you rebuilding your life in the period of time you weren’t in contact with Sam or your father. It was one of the first things you ever did for yourself and it’s very important to me that you don’t give that up unless you want to, which is part of the reason why you risking your job upsets me,” 

“Well that’s… “ Dean trails off, then glances away from the road to look at him, “Thank you,” 

“If our lives were more stable and we had normal Christmases and didn’t prelude New Years Eve parties with removing sutures?” 

“I still dunno,” Dean says, after a moment’s pause, “If Sam hadn’t been a junkie and Dad hadn’t hit that car, I think I’d want kids, but _that_ all happened and... There’s just so many ways things can circle the drain.” 

“I’m acutely aware of all the small things my mother did without thinking that have impacted our lives greatly,” 

“Right,” Dean agrees, “It’s _huge_ Cas. You’re almost guaranteed to fuck this kid up in someway or other. They’re gonna hate you at some point when they’re angry and messed up teenager and they’re gonna blame you for all the bad things in their life. That’s not even thinking about what happens if they get sick. Or get hurt in some spook accident. Or get addicted or bullied. You know we’d end up with boy who hated Christmas.” 

“My mother would want to be further involved in our lives,” 

“ _Jo_ would demand babysitting and feed em’ up on sugar and teach em’ poker. Gabriel would steal our frigging kids, Cas, and who knows how they’d come back,” 

“This does seem like a number of good reasons to rule this out,” 

“Yeah,” Dean exhales, “Maybe we’ll change our mind when we’ve got a Sam’s kid on tap, but right now…” 

“Not on the cards,” 

“Agreed,” Dean says, “You wanna make any more serious life decisions before we get to Bobby or you got your fill for now?” 

“It’s the next turning,” 

“Yeah, thanks for the memo,” 

“Ah, you were being facetious. Well, I’m tired.” 

“My bad,” Dean says, clearing his throat, “Cas, last night. Everything just ambushed me. All of this crap just nailed me all at once. I’m okay.” 

“You don’t have to quantify having emotions about this,” 

“Well, okay,” Dean says, pulling into Bobby’s drive and turning to face Cas instead of getting out the car, “Just don’t want you worrying unnecessarily,” 

“I will restrict my worry to necessary amounts,” 

“Smart ass,” Dean throws back, “Okay, you ready? I’m hoping for minimal yelling and no hospital trips. Just call me Mr Optimism.” 

“Okay, Mr Optimism,” Dean makes a face, “It will be fine, Dean.” 

“If you say so,” Dean says, finally making a move to get out of the car, “I didn’t talk to Sam today. I know I said I would but I was having emotions and crap.” 

“Given he’s currently living with us, you’ll have another opportunity to talk to him. It’s fine, Dean. Let’s go inside before your family assume we’re plotting something or having an argument.” 

“Hah,” Dean says, nudging him with his shoulder, “I’d love a freaking argument to distract me right now.” 

They’re in amongst the early arrivers for once, which means everyone’s still making small talk in the front room when they walk in. 

“May I utilise your facilities to sterilize my surgical equipment?” Is Castiel’s opening line, which get’s about the reception Dean would have expected because, of course, Dean shacked up with one of the most socially awkward Doctor’s in existence. It takes him a few seconds to process exactly what just happened and the blank expressions he’s getting from Ellen and Jo before his brain kicks in enough to intervene. 

“What Cas means is he’s gonna remove my stitches before either of us drink,” Dean says, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “I want them out.” 

“I’ll do it,” Jo says, raising her hand. 

“Nope,” Dean says, “Bobby, Ellen?” 

“Aint like you listen to me anyway,” Bobby grouses, gesturing towards the kitchen, “Just don’t go bleeding all over the place.” 

“Awesome,” 

In the end, the light in the bathroom is deemed ‘insufficient’ and Cas has him leaning against the table in the kitchen. He's delicate and capable and deliberate as ever, taking the time to boil a pan of water to sterilize the surgical scissors in his kit like they weren't already sterilized beforehand. Dean wouldn’t have bothered. Cas is careful, especially when it comes to Dean, but that means the whole thing takes so damn long that Bobby’s wandered in for a drink top up before Cas has even started. 

“You sure they ready to come out?” Bobby asks, eyeing them up. 

“This is the earliest I'd consider it,” Cas says, “But it's been healing well.” 

“I want them out,” 

“As your doctor, it's not up to you,” 

“Medical consent, sweetheart,” Dean throws back. “Come on. Gonna pull them out in my sleep otherwise,” 

“Be still,” Cas chastises, just as Jo enters the room to grab her drink from Bobby. She pauses at the opposite end of the table to watch instead. 

“Whatever you say, Doc,” 

“Good skill,” Bobby comments, “Neat.” 

“I wouldn't have cut it there,” Jo says, tilting her head at him. 

“No bleeding,” 

“Yet,” 

“This aint a spectator sport,” Dean protests as Ellen joins the fucking party too. 

“Stop talking,” 

“Freaking -” 

“ - Dean,” Cas warns, apparently unflappable and utterly unperturbed that half his damn family is in the kitchen watching this. This is not how he thought this would go. 

“Should’ve let me do it,” Jo puts in. 

“Uh, hi,” Sam says, then everyone except Cas looks towards the door, where Sam’s just arrived and is blinking at them all like he just walked in on his whole family watching Dean getting his stitches removed. It’s fucking weird enough to merit a reaction without the fact that Dean only got the damn wound because of the crap with Ruby. Sam had already been blaming himself already, not without basis, without him having to stare at the great big hole in his abdomen. Goddamnit. 

“Hello Sam,” Castiel says, looking up and setting down his surgical scissors. 

“You done?” Dean asks, grabbing at his shirt. 

“Sterilize,” Cas says, thrusting a antiseptic wipe at him, “And be careful,” 

“Yes, sir.” Dean rolls his eyes, “Any other words of wisdom?” 

“Be politer to the person patching you up,” Cas says, “Even if they’re marrying you.” 

Bobby snorts. 

“Thanks,” Dean concedes. 

“Would you like a candy for good behaviour?” 

“Screw you, smart ass,” Dean says, “Show’s over, folks.” 

“I’m going to put this back in the car,” Cas says, frowning between Dean and Sam. 

“Keys,” Dean says, digging them up out of his pocket and throwing them in Cas’ direction. He catches them out the air and turns them over in his palm, medical kit in his other hand. “I’ll get you a drink,” 

“Thank you, Dean.” 

“You told Sam you set a date?” Ellen asks, as Dean grabs a couple of beers. 

“Uh, no,” Dean says, “It’s not final yet. We’re waiting on Naomi giving the go ahead but, uh… first weekend in April. Keep it free.” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, blinking at him, “Will do.” 

“Awesome,” 

“Dean -” 

“And get ready to wish you’d never met the rest of Cas’ family because, damn, Michael is a dick. Just ask Gabriel.” Dean interjects before Sam can start with anything emotional that Dean definitely cannot deal with right now. “How Cas turned out so great I’ll never know. When do we get pie, Ellen?” 

“You’ve got a good rhythm,” Ellen says, nodding at the door which means, apparently, they’re talking about Cas now. 

“So’s your face,” Dean says, before making his way to the front room and speed drinking both his and Cas’ beer because, yeah, he does not want to talk about this right now. 

* 

It’s all going _better_ than it has been, recently, up until the point that Naomi calls. Cas had been a little more relaxed than he has been, if not his normal self, and Ellen’s trying too hard in a good way. Sam’s avoiding ending up in a one-on-one with Dean, but keeps glancing at him like a lost puppy. Dean kind of appreciates the effort; Sam is still trying to respect the boundary he set in place at Christmas and it’s meant the whole family party thing has been drama free, if a little awkward. That’s pretty good considering their track record.

“I should take this,” Cas says, frowning intently at his phone, “Unless you can think of a good reason to avoid it,” 

“Sorry, sweetheart, I got nothing,” Dean says, “Send my love.” 

Cas raises an eyebrow at that but makes no further comment. 

“Sweetheart,” Jo repeats, eyebrows slightly raised. 

“Shut up, it’s a thing,” Dean says, flushing slightly. 

“Hey, I’m just glad you’re relaxing. Two years of you calling him _buddy_ was getting a little old.” 

“I’m working on it,” Dean says, his tension levels rising. He needs another beer. “I mean… shut up.” 

“It’s good.” 

“Shut up,” 

“Okay,” Jo says, holding up our hands, “But I get it. I’m not against Cas,” Jo says, “None of us were, so you can quit trying to prove me wrong. All of you. Between you and Sam I’m sick of this whole dumb thing,” 

“Sam?” Dean asks, glancing up from his half empty beer. 

“Right,” Jo says, “Your brother,” 

“Yeah, I know who Sam is,” Dean says, irritably, “What’s he got to do with Cas?” 

“Good question,” Jo says, “But apparently he’s involved enough that he feels like he’s got the right to lecture me on crap.” 

“What?” 

“The day after Christmas,” Jo prompts, “That dumb conversation you got your panties in a twist about. Sam giving this impassioned speech about how Cas was giving up his time to try and talk Jess round and how disgustingly in love with you he is. Like, okay, I get it. He’s an awkward special snowflake who acts like a real human when it comes to you. I like him. I just don’t know him.” 

“Sam was trying to talk you round about Cas?” 

“You didn’t know that?” Jo asks, making a face, “We got a full dose of righteous Sam, telling us all about why Cas doesn’t like Christmas and you making him Christmas dinner and taking it to work like it was cutest thing ever.” 

“Huh,” Dean says, stomach twisting, “So Sam was, uh, trying to help?” 

“Yeah,” 

“I need to talk to him,” Dean says, abandoning his drink and standing up. “Where is he?” 

“Kitchen,” 

He’s headed that way before he even responds to Jo. 

Apparently he looks intent enough about everything that Bobby takes his wordless cue and leaves them to it before he can say anything, though, which leaves him with puppy-dog-eye-Sam projecting angst at him. His black eye has gone down at least. 

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says, swallowing past the lump in his throat. _Sam was trying to help_. Obviously, Sam was trying to help. It figures that whilst Dean had Cas positioned to try and fix things with Jess, Sam would try and fix things with Jo and the rest. That’s basically what Ruby told him Sam would do. He should’ve _known_ that Sam would have his back, in his special, hopeless Sam way. Obviously. “About the wedding.” 

“Mind if I interrupt?” 

“Jess,” Sam says, blinking in her direction. 

“Hey Jess,” Dean says, turning to smile at her, “Good to see you,” 

“I didn’t know you were coming,” 

“Yeah,” Jess says, glancing downwards and ringing her hands. 

“I’ll leave you two kids to it,” Dean says, clapping Sam on the shoulder as he goes because… yeah, his emotionally charged moment with Sam can wait. His little brother has got other priorities now, which might just be okay. 

“Jessica is here,” Cas says, when Dean steps back into the main room. 

“Yeah, they’re talking,” 

“My mother can make the first weekend in April,” 

“Sam’s gonna be my best man. After I ask him.” 

“Good,” Cas says, smiling. It’s a good enough moment that Dean just has to lean forward and kiss him in the doorway of Bobby’ front room, in full view of the rest of his family and friends. He’s barely even _drank_ anything yet but he just… he kind of feels like it might be okay. He kind of feels like Sam is going to be able to work this out. That he and Cas are gonna be fine. That the rest of them will get use to Cas being around. That he might just get used to Cas’ mom being a permanent feature of his life. That they might actually get round to that allusive hot-anniversary-sex later. 

Benny signals his arrival but wolf-whistling at them, with Charlie and a bottle of good stuff in tow, and that’s a good of a reason as any to switch from beer to scotch and drink in the very welcome new year.

* 

“Happy new year, Dean,” 

“No,” Dean mutters into his pillow, “You’re wrong. Nothing about this resembles happy. I don’t know what happy is. I don’t know who the fuck _Dean_ is.” 

“Amnesia isn’t generally a side effect of a hangover,” Cas says, voice solid and way too loud and, holy crap, this cannot just be a hangover. Alcohol has always been his goddamn friend. Alcohol cannot be responsible for how he feels right now. “Even in that ridiculous movie, drugs were involved. Drink this.” 

Dean sits up and takes the glass of water. Moving is a mistake. It feels a little like his brain is rattling around and slamming against his skull. Fuck. 

“You look dreadful,” Cas comments, the corner of his lips twisting upwards, “Good morning.” 

“Why.” 

“Your annual tradition of trying to outdrink Jo had something to do with it, I’m sure.” 

“You seem fine,” 

“Given I’m on twenty four hours on, twenty four off next week I negated to join in the drinking competition,” Cas says, “Go back to sleep, Dean. I just wanted to make sure you drank some liquid.” 

“Kay,” Dean says, then faceplants back in his bed. 

* 

It’s another few hours before he feels alive enough to make it downstairs. 

“What did I do?” Dean asks, standing at the foot of the sofa in the sweatpants he doesn’t remember putting on, “You don’t feel this crappy without having done something really fucking embarrassing.” 

“You asked Sam to be your best man,” 

“I know I did that,” Dean says, sitting on the arm of the sofa very gingerly. “That’s there.” 

“Do you remember the speech?” 

“No,” 

“Nevermind,” Cas says mildly, “Gabriel recorded it.” 

* 

He’s been concentrating on getting through his fourth glass of water for the past half an hour when it starts coming back to him. Really, he is too goddamn old to drink like he’s in his twenties, but he was in such a good fucking mood after such a terrible mood and Gabriel’s frigging special brew _seemed_ like such a good idea. He should’ve learnt from last year. He should’ve known. 

“Did I tell Bobby I had a thing for cowboys?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, sliding painkillers in his direction, because Cas is actually a saint. “I think your family are officially aware you are attracted to men.” 

“Awesome,” Dean says, “I think I’m gonna throw up.” 

* 

“So that hot anniversary sexy didn’t happen, huh?” Dean asks, sprawled across the sofa. He’s been more or less asleep on Cas’ lap whilst Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair which, for some reason Dean’s not entirely sure is medically sound, is really helping him feel less crap. 

“Perhaps next year,” 

He sounds amused even though it kind of sucks that Dean ruined their plans by forgetting what happened last New Years when he drank Gabriel’s homemade alcohol. At least last year Cas was hungover too. 

“Yeah, I might be less hungover by then,” Dean says, slamming his eyes shut, “Maybe.” 

* 

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asks, after Cas has coaxed him into eating hangover food from his position on the sofa. He’s feeling a little more human but that’s not saying a whole lot given everything. He hasn’t yet managed to face checking his phone and he’s not entirely convinced his stomach isn’t going to turn against him again. _Goddamnit_. 

“He’s at home,” 

“Really?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, smiling at him. "In the spare room, for now."

"Good on Jess," Dean says, "Crap. Sam’s gonna be a Dad,” 

“That’s the word on the street, yes.” 

“Holy crap,” Dean says, his sluggish brain beginning to kick into action, “Cas, next Christmas there’s gonna be a _baby_.” 

“I suppose that means we can’t skip it,” Cas says, as Dean forces himself to sit up properly. 

“No,” Dean says, but he’s got a growing good feeling about this year. Things are changing. Things are getting better. He’s gonna marry Cas and Sam is gonna have a baby and their lives are going to move forward in a way that he never would’ve thought would be possible a few years ago. He’s different to how he was then. They both are.

“We have time to prepare ourselves for it.” 

“And hell,” Dean says, “It can’t be worse than this year.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (slightly belated) new year! I hope you all had a lovely festive season without this much drama.


End file.
